Skip to main content

Full text of "Under the southern cross. A war drama in four acts"

See other formats

S 3066 
;opy 1 

d is. 

: :':' ' 






"l|l ill" Hi" ' ill '!"•' "'I'"' " 'I I 1 ' 

Under the Southern Cross. 


o. u 



Capital Printing Company, Printers and Binders. 


Two Copies Recasts 

DEC 18 1907 

. Gopyngiu tntry 

\ftdUf2z. mo 

"glass* xte. m 


Copyright, 1900, 




This play is fully protected by the copyright law, all requirements of 
which have been complied with. No performances of it may be given 
without the written permission of the author, and this permission will 
only be given to Chapters of the Daughters of the Confederacy desiring 
to produce it for the objects of the organization. All such Chapters may 
obtain permission by applying to author. 

The subjoined is an extract from the law relating to copyright : 
SEC. 4996. Any person publicly performing or representing any dra- 
matic or musical composition for which a copyright has been obtained, 
without the consent of the proprietor of said dramatic or musical compo- 
sition or his heirs or assigns, shall be liable for damages therefor, such 
damages in all cases to be assessed at such sum not less than one hundred 
dollars for the first and fifty dollars for every subsequent performance as 
to the Court shall appear just. If the unlawful performance and repre- 
sentation be willful and for profit, such person or persons shall be guilty 
of a misdemeanor, and upon conviction shall be imprisoned for a period 
not exceeding one year. 


General Dering, C. S. A. 

Gordon Beverley, his Chief of Staff. 

Jack Warrington, commanding cavalry legion 

called Warrington's Light Horse. 
Lieutenant Forrest, A. D. C. to General Dering. 
George Stone, a neighbor of the Warringtons. 
Captain Porter, U. S. A. 
Mrs. Warrington, mother of Jack. 
Marion Warrington, her daughter. 
Kate Conyers, her niece. 
Ned, a young negro of ante bellum type. 
Mom Elsie, a faithful family servant. 
Soldiers, scouts, surgeon, etc. 

Act First. 

The Garden of Warrington Court, an old Southern man- 
sion in the country. 

(A day elapses). 

Act Second. 

Miller's Farm-house, occupied by Northern troops. 
(A day elapses). 

Act Third. 

Scene I. Woods near Confederate camp. 
Scene II. Confederate camp. 

(An hour or two elapses). 

Act Fourth. 

Drawing-room of Warrington Court. 

Time: Summer 1863. 

Music Required. 


A medley of familiar Southern airs, current during the 
war, such as, "The Bonnie Blue Flag," "My Maryland," 
" Old Folks at Home," etc. Ending with " Dixie," to the 
strains of which the curtain should rise. 


After first act, medley of the airs of songs sung in this act. 
After second, martial music, to prepare for next act. After 
third act a stirring march should be played. If the or- 
chestra can accompany the singing of the last verse of " The 
Cavalier's Glee " in this act, it will be well, but is not nec- 
essary. After curtain has gone down finally, " Dixie " 
should again be played. 

Act First. 

tt.U..S. / 


/ ^ _J 


£p<§> 0* 



*"" — Q ^. . -- 

i. End of portico of house. 2. Trellis. 3. Seat under trellised arch. 
4. Table. 5. Chair. 6. Chair. 

Scene. — The garden of Warrington Court, planted, 
not too thickly, with flowers and blossoming shrubs. The 
back-cloth is painted to show garden vistas, but about one- 
third of it is cut off by representation of the wall of the 
house, only the corner of which is supposed to show. It 
should be white, with one, or possibly two, green-shuttered 
windows. The end of the portico (i) a platform, with Co- 
rinthian columns at L,- U. E., is elevated one or two steps 
above the level of the stage. A trellis (2) covered with 
vines extends five or six feet from R. 3 E. Farther dowu 
stage on right stands a trellised, rose-covered arch, under 
which is a rustic seat, large enough for two persons. A 
rustic table (4) stands in front of this and a rustic chair (5) 
is placed on left side of table. Another rustic chair (6) 
stands back near trellis. 


Act Second. 
<9. ^-. 


- - o- 

i. Table. 2. 3. 4. Chairs. 5. Spinning-wheel. 6. Fire-place, 

Scene. — A room in a farm-house very roughly furnished. 
Door at centre in flat and also at R. 2 E. Window with- 
out curtains, able to open, at L,. C. A table (1) has writing 
materials on it. On chair (2) Yankee officer is seated, fac- 
ing table. On chair (3) Stone sits, facing audience. Chair 
(4) is placed in this position for Marion by Ned when she 
enters. A spinning-wheel (5) stands in upper right corner. 
A large fire-place, with plain mantel is at L. 2 E. 

Act Third. 


*R . ^.^_jL_i)i~-^ sowuj, h.J^*A*3i~**~§ ^usA«o . 


--O -O' 

I and 2. Thickets. 3. Log. 4. Tent. 5. Stumps — or any other natural 
objects that would serve as seats. 6. Log. 

Scene First. — A forest glade, with drop-scene represent- 
ing forest. Thickets of small pines or cedars conceal right 
and left entrances. Immediately in front of thicket on 
right is a log. In this glade the first scene of act takes 
place. After characters have left stage, drop-scene should 
slowly rise, disclosing — 

Scene Second. — Confederate camp. The flat at back 
represents some wild, natural scene, and there should be a 
few trees to give the appearance of woods. At R. U. E. 
stands tent of General Dering. On left are placed two or 
more stumps (5) and a log, or some rocks, (6) at back. 
These serve as seats for soldiers at first and afterwards for 
other characters. 


Act Fourth. 

?5 J? lil 

i. Couch. 2. Table. 3. I^arge arm-chair. 4. Smaller chair. 5. Fire-place. 
6. Pier-table and mirror. 

Scene. — Drawing-room of Warrington Court, furnished 
in the style of the middle of the century. There must be 
enough furniture to prevent the room from looking empty, 
but care must be taken not to crowd it. A wide door is at 
centre of flat with old portraits hanging in middle of wall 
on either side of it, and a chair or two beneath them. On 
right of stage is a long, modern couch (i) without back. 
On left is a round mahogany table (2) of Colonial model. 
Beside this stands a large arm-chair (3) and on the other 
side a smaller chair (4). In left corner is a tall, carved 
mantel (5) bearing clock (the hands of which point to 
seven) candelabra and vases. A bell-cord hangs by door on 
left. Between windows on right stands a massive old-fash- 
ioned pier-table (6) with mirror above it. 



Scene. — The garden of Warrington Court, set with many 
■plants and flowering shrubs. On left is seen a corner 
of the house, an old-fashioned Southern mansion, with 
white-columned -portico. On right is a vine-covered 
trellis. Also on right, but further down stage, is a 
trellised arch overhung with roses. Under this is 
placed a rustic bench and table. Near by stands a 
rustic chair. Another rustic chair is placed beside 
farther trellis. For details of position, see scene plot. 
The light is that of a summer afternoon. 

Marion Warrington is discovered, seated on bench under 
trellis. She has a large half knitted sock in her hands 
and is attempting to knit while reading a book vjhich 
lies open before her on the table. KATE CONYERS sits 
in chair on left side of table and has a finished sock in 
her hands. Both girls are young, pretty, high-bred in 
appearance typical of the best social class of the old 
South. They are simply, but prettily dressed in the 
fashion of the time — gauzy, billowy gowns of delicately 
tinted muslin, with bare ar?ns and neck. Both wear 
their hair dressed in a low knot at the back of the 
head, while one or two long, loose curls fall over the 
bare, white shoulders. 



Kate {taking needles from her sock and spreading it 
out on her knee). There ! — that makes another pair, the 
fourth I've finished this week ! How many have you fin- 
ished, Marion? 

Marion {looking up from book zvith start). How many 
have I — what Kate? 

Kate. Why, how many pairs of socks have you fin- 
ished ? You know Aunt Lucy wants to send a box to the 
army very soon. 

Marion {looking guilty and beginning to knit very fast). 
Oh, I haven't finished one pair yet this week. I don't knit 
very fast, you know. I drop so many stitches and have to 
take out so much. There's a stitch dropped now, I see ! 
{-pulls out needles petulantly and begins to ravel). I don't 
believe I shall ever finish this sock ! 

Kate {watching her). It isn't surprising that you don't 
get on very fast, or that you drop stitches either. You 
can't knit and read at the same time. 

Marion. Mama can. I've seen her do it, and that's 
what made me think of trying. I want to finish this novel — 
I'm at such an interesting point. 

Kate. What is it? 

Marion {with a sigh). " Henry Esmond." What 
wouldn't you give for a new novel, Kate? I wanted one 
so badly that I had to get an old one, so I went into the 
library and found this. I never read it before, and it's very 
interesting. I like Beatrix so much ! 

Kate {dryly). I don't wonder. You resemble her. 

Marion {highly flattered). Do you think so? How 
flattering ! 

Kate. I don't see anything flattering in saying that 



you resemble a heartless coquette. But instead of reading 
about Beatrix, you had better be knitting socks. Because 
Aunt Lucy knits and reads at the same time is no reason 
that you can. She can do anything — and she's always do- 
ing something for the soldiers. They are on her mind con- 
tinually, as they should be on the minds of all of us. Since 
we can't fight, we women, we ought to work for the men 
who can. 

Marion. I'm sure we do. I'm working now. 

KaTE [sarcastically). Very hard. How many pairs of 
socks have you knitted during the past month ? 

Marion {with dignity). Knitting socks isn't all there is 
to do. I've made and embroidered three tobacco-bags. 

KATE {still sarcastically). For your admirers! That 
was more agreeable work than wearing out one's fingers 
knitting socks, but I don't think it was quite so useful. A 
tobacco-bag won't do much towards keeping a man's feet 

Marion {smiling). But it will keep his heart warm — 
at least that's what they all said when they received them. 

Kate. Who are " they ? " 

Marion {carelessly). Gordon Beverley first, — 

Kate. I hope he's properly grateful for being first, even 
if he isn't alone. 

Marion. Of course he's grateful. He would be grate- 
ful for anything from me. Then Lieutenant Forrest — 

Kate. Aren't you ashamed to make each of those men 
believe that you are thinking about him in particular? 

Marion. I don't. I try to make them understand that 
I think about them collectively. But if they should believe 
otherwise there's no harm done. The belief makes them 



happy, and men fight better when they are happy. So I 
feel that I have done my little share towards inspiring 
and making heroes of them. 

Kate. This is the first time I have heard flirtation ex- 
alted into a patriotic duty. 

Marion. You can't deny it's a good view of it. There 
are three men happier for my tobacco-bags, which is more 
than you have accomplished with all your socks. 

Kate. Three men ! You've only mentioned two. Who 
is the third? 

Marion (a little defiantly). George Stone. 

Kate. George Stone ! Well, you haven't done much 
towards inspiring and making a hero of him ! 

Marion. How unkind you are about poor George ! It's 
not his fault that he isn't a soldier. He says he would like 
to go into the army, but you know his father is in wretched 
health, so there's nobody but George to look after things at 

Kate. There's nobody here — if you mean any man. 
But Jack doesn't stay at home on that account. 

Marion. Oh — Jack! He's different. You'd have to 
tie Jack to keep him at home. 

Kate. I should hope so — or any other man who is a 
man. Why can't Mrs. Stone do what Aunt Lucy does — 
look after the plantation herself? 

Marion. Mrs. Stone is a Northern woman, you know ; 
and George feels as if he ought not to fight against her 

Kate. Then he should go and live with them ! We 
don't want such men here ! I don't trust George Stone, 
Marion. I 'm sure he is a coward, and I shouldn't be at all 



surprised if he were a spy. I don't see how you can be so 
friendly, and flirt with him as you do. 

Marion {indignantly). I don't flirt with him. 

Kate {positively). You do — outrageously. If Gordon 
Beverley knew of it he would be very angry. 

Marion {still indignant). Gordon Beverley has no 
right to be angry at anything I choose to do. 

Kate You have given him a light by your encourage- 
ment. And you know that you care for him. 

Marion. I don't know anything of the kind. 

Kate. Then you shouldn't make him believe that you 

Marion. I don't make him believe it. 

Kate. You certainly do. 

Marion. I '11 — I '11 prove to you that I don't when I see 
him again. 

Kate. That may easily be never. 

Marion {catching her breath). Ah ! 

{They are silent, both looking downcast and sorrowful. 
Enter GEORGE Stone from house. He is a young 
man, good-looking, dressed in civilians costume and 
has the appearance and manners of a gentleman. He 
descends veranda steps and comes forward with the 
easy assurance of an old friend^) 

Stone. Good-day, young ladies. Mrs. Warrington told 
me I would find you here. 

KATE {coldly, without rising). Good-day, Mr. Stone. 

Marion {rising, coming forward and offering her hand 
warmly). How do you do, George. Yes, of course we are 
here — it's so much pleasanter than in the house. And very 



glad to see you. In fact you have just come in time to 
keep Kate and me from quarrelling. 

Stone [looking at Kate, as if with a desire to -propitiate 
her), I '11 be delighted to act us peace-maker. What is 
the ground of quarrel ? 

Kate {rolling up her knitting and rising). Only a radi- 
cal difference of taste, Mr. Stone. 

[She zvalks up stage to trellis and begins to arrange and 
tie up some of the vines. Stone looks after her.) 

Stone. She 's not very polite, Miss Kate ! It's clear 
she doesn't like me, but {sitting in vacant chair) I don't 
mind that as long as she 's good enough to go away and 
leave me alone with you. 

Marion [sitting again and beginning to knit). Well, 
you see Kate doesn't particularly care for any man who 
isn't a soldier. It's a pity you aren't a soldier. 

Stone {carelessly). It isn't a pity as far as her caring 
for me is concerned, for I don't want her to care for me. 
But {leaning forward) if it would make you like me better 
I — I'd be ready to put on the gray uniform to-morrow. 

Marion. A girl's caring seems rather a poor reason for 
putting it on. If you would do it for me, why don't you 
do it for your country ? 

Stone. This isn't my — I mean — you know why I 
don't. My people can't get on without me. 

Marion. We get on without any man. Papa and Jack 
have been gone, as you know, ever since the first of the 
war, but mamma manages everything and has no trouble. 

Stone. That 's all very well as long as you 're within 
the Confederate lines ; but when the enemy comes, the 



negroes will no longer obey your mother, there will be no- 
body to protect you, and — 

Marion {scornfully). When the enemy comes ! Do 
you think the Yankees are likely to get here, with our 
men between us and them ? 

Stone {confidently). They have got to other places, 
and I 'm sure they will be here soon. 

Marion {looking at him intently). Why are you sure ? 
How do you know? 

Stone {hastily). Of course I don't know. I only think 
it probable. {Rises and takes seat by her side). In fact I 
don't mind prophecying that they will be here within a few 
days — perhaps sooner. And when they come you'll need 
protection. Your Confederate soldiers can do you no good 
then. But / can. It will be my turn, and I will do every- 
thing possible for you if — {-places hand on hers) if you'll 
only be kind and promise to love me a little ! 

(MARION looks at him, as if in speechless indignation, and 
drawing hand from him rises, addressing him very 
coldly) : 

Marion. I don't understand why you should have more 
power to protect us than any other Southern man. If you 
are true to the South you haven't got such power. If you 
are not true— (she pauses). You have known me all your 
life, George Stone, but it hasn't been to much purpose if 
you don't know that I would suffer anything at the hands 
of the Yankees rather than accept the protection of a — 

Stone (who has risen when she does). Marion ! 

Marion (passionately). I don't want to say the word ! 
I don't want even to think of applying it to you, George ! 



{Holds out her hands a-ppealingly). We were play-fellows 
when we were children, we have been friends all our lives. 

Stone [attempting to take he?' hand). I've been your 
lover, Marion — always. 

Marion {tn a tone of protest, warding him off). I don't 
want to know it. I only want to remember our old friend- 
ship. Oh, George, it can't be {lays her hand on his arm) 
that you are not true to the South ! 

Stone {resentfully). You have no right to doubt it. 
But I know who has put the suspicion into your mind. 
{He glances at Kate) . I'll remember it, too. Of course 
I'm true to the South ! But I shall have power to help you 
if the Yankees come simply because my mother has some 
relatives with them. The general commanding the corps 
which will be here is — her cousin. 

Marion {shocked). Oh, how dreadful ! 

Stone {smiling). It won't be very dreadful for me — 
when they come. 

Marion. If he were my cousin I'd rather die than ac- 
knowledge him — coming to ravage our country and slay 
our men and take away our rights ! 

Stone {shrugging his shoulders). Such conduct wouldn't 
go far towards saving one's property. No, no. It isn't bad 
I can tell you, to have friends on both sides. And I'll use 
mine to protect you, if — if you let me. 

Marion {disdainfully). You are very kind indeed. But 
I prefer to trust to our own soldiers for protection. {She 
turns away and exclaims) : Why, yonder's mamma ! She 
must have heard something ! 

{Enter Mrs. Warrington from house. She is a charm- 
ing-looking woman of about forty-five, with manners 



of unaffected grace and dignity. Her hair is perhaps 
a little gray and she wears a trifle of a lace cap on it, 
but her complexion is fresh and her whole appearance 
is that of a woman who has always been loved, shel- 
tered, deferred to, yet whom this deference has not 
weakened, who rules her household like a queen, but is 
loved as well as she is obeyed. She xvears a gown of 
some dark fabric, with a lace ~fichu, and open sleeves 
show her fair, round arms. She carries a fan, and 
comes forward with an air of excitement. Marion 
and KaTE hasten toward her. She addresses them 
eagerly) : 

Mrs. W. Girls, I have great news ! 

Marion. From the army ? 

Kate. Oh, what is it ? 

Mrs. W. Bering's Brigade has advanced into this 
neighborhood and the general has sent word that he will 
make his headquarters with us. 

Marion {clasping her hands'). How delightful ! Gor- 
don Beverley is his chief of staff. 

Kate. And Jack's Light Horse is in his brigade ! 

Mrs. W. Yes, Jack will be able to see us. It is an unex- 
pected happiness. We may look for the general very soon. 
The aide who brought the message said he would follow 
almost immediately and I've been too busy ever since to 
think of telling you. 

Kate {reproachfully). Why didn't you call us to help 

Mrs, W. I had no need of you. The servants know 
better than you what is to be done — but something must 
have been forgotten, for here is Mom Elsie. 



(Enter Mom Elsie from house. She is a middle-aged 
woman, of a chocolate-brown, or little lighter color. 
Has good features, is erect and dignified, wears crisp 
skirts, a long white apron, spotless white kerchief 
about her neck and white or bright-colored turban on 
her head. She has the air of one who has ahvays 
been accustomed to consideration and to speaking her 
mind freely). 

Mom Elsie. Is you gwine to give de Gen'l your sho 'nuff 
coffee, Miss Lucy? 

Mrs. W. Of course. You dou't think I would give 
him the decoction of rye that we drink every day ? 

Mom Elsie {doubtfully). Dere 's mighty little lef o' 
dat coffee, Miss Lucy, an' Mass Tom might be comin' home 
some day. 

Mrs. W. God grant that he may ! But he 'd be the 
first to say use the coffee now, and you know it. 

Mom Elsie {still reluctantly). But Mass Jack might be 
comin' too, an' he 's powe'ful fond of coffee is Mass Jack. 

KATE {seizing her). But Jack is coming now — now — 
don't you know it? So you must make the coffee for him, 
Mom Elsie, and make it nice and strong ! 

Mom Elsie {delighted ). I will, chile, I will ! I knows 
jes' how he likes it. {Turns to Mrs. W.) An' de loaf- 
sugar, Miss Lucy? If you gives 'em coffee, you '11 have to 
give 'em loaf-sugar, too. 

Mrs. W. We will give them everything that we have — 
everything ! After they are gone it doesn't matter how we 
live — Oh ! {She starts and looks eagerly towards house.) 

Who is that ? Jack ! 



(She rushes eagerly forward as Jack Warrington emer- 
ges from house. He is a gallant dashing-looking 
young fellow in his early txuenties. He wears cavalry 
uniform — gray, with yellow facing and strifes, the 
short cavalry jacket and high riding boots. Mrs. 
Warrington throws her arms about him, Marion and 
Kate also embrace htm, while Mom Elsie -pats him on 
the back. He -puts his arms about them all, and then 
turns and hugs Mom Elsie). 
Jack. What a glorious thing to have a glimpse of home 
again ! When we got orders to march in this direction, I 
shouted for joy. How well you are all looking ! {Glances 
around at them, and then smiles mischieviously at Mom 
Elsie). And as for Mom Elsie, she gets younger every 

Mom Elsie {beaming). G' long, Mass Jack! You al- 
ways was de impidentest boy ! Now I mus' go an' get out 
dat coffee. {Exit hastily into house^. 

Marion (aside to Jack). Don't you see George Stone? 
Jack {aside to Marion). I don't particularly care about 
seeing him. Nevertheless, — {he advances with outstretch- 
ed hand, but somewhat stiff manner, to where Stone has re- 
mained, half-standing, half-sitting on edge of table). How 
are you George ? 

Stone (as they shake hands). How are you, Jack? 
Glad to see you looking so well. 

Jack (carelessly). Yes, thanks — 1 haven't been winged 
yet by a Yankee bullet. You haven't given them a chance 
at you, I believe ? 

Stone (stiffly). I have not found it possible to leave 



Jack {drily). So it appears. {He turns to Mrs. War- 
rington). Mother, have you heard that the general is com- 
ing to make his headquarters here? I hope you are ready 
for him ? 

Mrs. W. Perfectly, my dear boy, and charmed to have 
him. {Looks toward house). Ah, there he is now — com- 
ing out here ! It is too bad there was nobody in the house 
to receive him ! 

{She advances toward the house, where Ned ap-pears on 
veranda, ushering GENERAL BERING and two other 
officers into the garden. Ned is a good-looking, in- 
telligent boy of nineteen or twenty, of about the same 
color as Mom Elsie, {anything Ike a negro-minstrel 
abearance should be carefully avoided for these 
characters), well-dressed and with a great deal of 
manner, as ante-bellum servants, brought up in the 
master's house, always had. He ushers out the officers 
with this manner. Gen. Dering is a man of about 
thirty-five, tall, handsome, with military bearing, 
wears a hrigadier-generaVs cavalry uniform, with yel- 
low, silk sash, and a hat looped up on one side with a 
black plume. With him are Captain Beverley, his 
chief of staff, a slender, handsome young officer; and 
Lieut. Forrest, also quite young. Both are in uni- 
form, and having just dismounted wear their belts, 
pistols and swords. All have their hair parted at the 
side and wear a beard of some kind — the young offi- 
cers moustaches, the general also an imperial. 

Ned. Yes, sah. De ladies is in de gya'nden, sah. 
Mrs. W. {extending her hand). My dear General, I am 



sorry you have had to come in search of us, but I am de- 
lighted to see you. 

Gen. Dering (bowing over her hand). So that we find 
you at last, my dear Mrs. Warrington, no distance would 
be too far to seek you. I hope I don't inconvenience you 
by calling on your hospitality ! 

Mrs. W. I would not forgive you if you failed to do so. 
Warrington Court is honored by any service a Confederate 
general demands of it. 

Gen. No service has ever been demanded of Warring- 
ton Court to which it has not nobly responded. You know, 
I believe, these members of my staff, (he indicates them), 
Captain Beverley and Lieut. Forrest. 

Mrs. W. (extending her hand to the young men, who both 
bow over it). Very well indeed. And you, General, know 
my daughter and my niece, Miss Conyers? 

Gen. I have met the young ladies before and am 
charmed to renew my acquaintance with them. (He shakes 
hands with Marion and Kate). 

Mrs. W. (turning toward Stone). And here is one of 
our neighbors, Mr. George Stone. 

Gen. (glancing over Stone, noting his citizen's dress, 
and speaking a little coldly). Ah! How do you do, Mr. 

(Stone bows without speaking and then walks away. He 
goes up stage and disappears behind the trellis covered 
with vines. The rest pay no attention to him. The 
girls and young officers talk gaily together in back- 
ground, while Mrs. Warrington and Gen. Dering 
advance to front of stage, and sit in chairs, one of 
which the General draws forward). 



Gen. [glancing around). You have beautiful gardens 
here, Mrs. Warrington. 

Mrs. W. The Warrington Court gardens have been 
famous for a hundred years, general. 

Gen. (very gravely). I hope you may not have to see 
them ravaged by the enemy. 

Mrs. W. (anxiously) . Is there danger of that ? 

Gen. You are such a brave woman that I may tell you 
frankly there is great danger of it. The armies on both 
sides are converging to this point, and if we fall back — as 
for military reasons we may be obliged to do — this lovely 
old place will be left unprotected and will certainly be rav- 
aged by a foe who respects nothing. 

Mrs. W. We will suffer in seeing it, but it will have to 
be counted with the other sacrifices, over which no South- 
ern man or woman hesitates. 

Gen. One of my reasons for coming here to-day was to 
warn you of this, and to urge you to go with us, if we are 
forced to fall back, leaving your plantation outside our 

Mrs. W. (quietly). You are very kind, but this is my 
post of duty and I cannot leave it. 

Gen. I am sure that Gen . Warrington would wish that 
you should do so. 

Mrs. W. I think not. As he would not under any cir- 
cumstances abandon his own post, so he would expect me 
to remain at mine. 

Gen. What can you accomplish by remaining? 

Mrs. W. Much, I hope. If this house is abandoned it 
will certainly be destroyed. But if I remain I may save it. 



If there is even a chance of doing so, I must take that 
chance, for the sake of my husband and children 

Gen. You will be exposed to indignities, insults, per- 
haps even injuries. 

Mrs. W. (rising). You are exposed to death, general, 
when you go into battle,- but you don't remain away on that 
account So, whatever the danger here, I shall stay. I 
should feel like a deserter and a coward if while my hus- 
band fights his country's battles, I had not courage enough 
to guard his home 

Gen. (much moved and rising also), Madam, I beg pas- 
don for suggesting flight to such a dauntless spirit. The 
courage which takes me or any other soldier into battle is, 
I believe, less than that which holds you at your post of 
duty. But these young ladies — will you keep them with 

Mrs. W. (doubtfully). I cannot tell— I must consider — 
is there immediate need to decide? 

Gen. I hope not, but we cannot tell — the movements 
of the enemy are uncertain, and ours depend on theirs. 

Mrs. W. (making an effort to be cheerful). Then let us 
forget it all for a little while. We are here together to-day, 
old friends who may not meet soon again, if — if ever. To 
enjoy the passing hour is a philosophy one learns in war. 
It is so only that we women can live. 

Gen, My admiration of your philosophy is only second 

to my admiration of yourself. Be kind enough, then, to 

show me these beautiful grounds of yours 

(He offers his arm, Mrs. Warrington takes it and they 

go off, disappearing behind shrubbery, at first exit on 

left. Meanwhile, during this conversation the group 



in rear has separated. Kate and Jack have fallen 
apart from others and stand talking by trellis, Kate 
still handling the vines, while Jack leaning against 
trellis looks at and talks to her. Marion and the other 
two young men, stroll off stage behind trellis, disap- 
pearing for a moment or two as if wandering in gar- 
den, then reappear, as Mrs. Warrington and the 
general go off, glance with significant smiles at KATE 
and Jack, and going over to portico sit down on steps — 
that is, Marion sits, and BsvERLEY sits beside her, 
while FOREEST stands for a time at least leaning 
against column of portico. They talk together easily 
and naturally in low tones, while KATE and JACK 
move down to arch, where Kate half -absently con- 
tinues her zuork with the roses). 
Kate {anxiously) . And do you think the Yankees are 
really so close that you may have to go away again imme- 
diately ? 

Jack {sitting on edge of table). Our scouts report them 
very near, I hope we shall make a stand in this neighbor- 
hood, but if our orders are to fall back, we must obey — 
though it will be terribly hard to leave this dear old place 
within their lines. 

Kate. And how about us? Aren't you more sorry to 
leave us than to leave the dear old place ? 

Jack {in stirprise). Why of course we'll take all of you 
with us. 

Kate {shaking her head). No, you will not. Aunt 
Lucy has decided that even if the Yankees come, she will 
stay here, and Marion and I will stay with her. 

Jack {vehemently). Oh, that will never do ! It can't be 



allowed. I must speak to my mother. But even if she in. 
sists on staying, you musn't do so. I won't hear of it. 

Kate {coolly). You '11 not only hear of it, but see it 
done. {Pulls a rose). I'd stay with Aunt Lucy if fifty 
thousand Yankees came ! You ought to know that. 

Jack. I know you are as brave as a lion, and as obsti- 
nate as — as an animal that isn't a lion ! {She playfully 
strikes him with the rose). But you ought to consider me 
a little. How can I fight without a glimpse of you now 
and then, and how can I get a glimpse with a lot of damned 
Yankees between us? 

Kate {sweetly). Don't be profane, dear boy ! You '11 
have to drive the Yankees away — you haven't found that 
very hard to do so far. {She moves to seat on bench). And 
while you are doing it, I '11 stand on the roof and show my- 
self to inspirit you — as ladies in the days of chivalry showed 
themselves to their knights, you know. 

Jack (/rising). I hope you '11 do nothing of the kind. 
You would only make me nervous, and probably get shot 
yourself. There weren't any such things as bullets in the 
days of chivalry. Under such circumstances, the proper 
place for you would be the cellar. 

Kate {scornfully). The cellar ! How very heroic ! 

Jack {sitting beside her). Possibly not heroic, but 
safe — and that's what I 'm thinking of so far as you are 
concerned. {Takes her hands). Ah, Kate, my Kate, 'the 
daintiest Kate in Christendom,' it isn't necessary for you to 
show yourself in order to make my heart stout to fight for 
you. You made it that long since when you gave me your 

Kate (very tenderly). You made my heart stout, also, 



for a fight almost as hard as yours — the woman's fight of 
waiting and endurance. 

Jack {hissing one of her hands). Dear girl, this brave 
and faithful heart of yours needs nothing to make it more 
stout. There is no fight so hard your courage would not 
mount to it 

Kate. You flatter — no, no, this is not time for jesting ! 
I 'm sure you don't flatter, but you think too well of me. 

Jack. That's a sheer impossibility. I couldn't think 
too well of you ! Haven't I known you always and loved 
you as long as I have known you ? 

Kate (gently). Of the knowing there is no doubt, and 
for the loving — well, it pleases me to believe that, too. 

Jack. You dare not doubt it. Has there ever been a 
time since you came here first — poor, little orphan child ! — 
that I have not been your knight and servant ? 

Kate (laughing). Many times, I think, when it was 
the other way, as far as service went. But what greater 
kindness can you do a woman than just to let her serve you ? 
It is what we came into the world for. So when you let 
me trot after you and wait on you, you were winning 
my heart more surely than by any other means. We 
may have quarreled sometimes, but if so, I forget it. ( Very 
sweetly). All that I remember since you went to war, dear 
Jack, is how kind you always were and how much I love 
you ! 

Jack (passionately). Oh, if one had a hundred lives, 
they would not be too much to give for the land that bears 
such women ! 

Kate. The women must be worthy of its men. We 
dare not fall below our heroes. 



Jack. You would make heroes out of clods ! 

Kate. No, we can't make heroes out of clods — not yet 
(she glances around to see if George Stone is within hear- 
ing, and then finishes significantly) out of Stones. 

Jack {with disgust). I grant it would be pretty hard to 
make a hero out of that particular Stone. What is he do- 
ing here, by the way ? 

Kate You've heard the old saying, " For want of com- 
pany, welcome trumpery," haven't you ? 

Jack. To be sure. But you — 

Kate. Oh, I'm not the person who welcomes the trum- 
pery. It's Marion. She can't live without some one to 
flirt with, and since every man in the neighborhood has be- 
come a soldier except George Stone, why, as a matter of 
course, she flirts with George Stone. 

Jack (indignantly). She ought to be ashamed of herself. 
He's a coward ! 

Kate. I hope he may prove to be no worse, but be 
careful, Jack ! Say nothing before him which you would 
not wish the enemy to know. 

Jack (violently). If I thought that of him I'd — 

Kate (-putting her hand on his arm). Sssh ! Don't talk 
so loud ! I have no real ground for my opinion. It's only 
a suspicion and may be unjust. But now (rising) let us do 
a good turn to poor Captain Beverley by taking Lieutenant 
Forrest away so that he can have an opportunity to talk to 

Jack (sitting still). I don't see why I should do a good 
turn to Beverley by doing an ill turn to Forrest. Let them 
fight it out. I want to talk to you. 

Kate (coaxingly). And so you shall, after awhile. But 



let us be charitable and do this for Gordon Beverley. I 
know he is dying to say a few words to Marion alone, and 
Lieut. Forrest will never think of effacing himself. We 
must drag him away. Come ! 

Jack {rising reluctantly). Why should we drag him 
away ? I don't care — 

Kate (comfellingly). Come ! (She draws him with 
her, as she goes ufi to the others, who all rise, while she ad- 
dresses Forrest). Lieut. Forrest, I have been told so much 
of your singing that I am very anxious to have the pleasure 
of hearing you. 

Forrest {highly flattered). Ah-um — You're too good, 
Miss Conyers. I'm afraid Warrington has been saying too 
much about my singing. 

Jack {sulkily). I assure you I haven't. 

Kate. I've heard of your voice from others beside Jack. 
Do come to the piano and sing something for us. 

Beverley {warmly). Yes, do, Forrest ! Sing all your 
songs. We'll enjoy them so much. 

Fore EST {clearing his throat). I'm rather hoarse — 
there was so much dust on the road to-day. But I'll try 
what I can do — if you really think you care about it. (He 
looks at Marion?) 

Marion. Oh, we'll be charmed. 

Forrest. Then I'll sing — for you. 
(He says the last words aside to her, then goes with KATE 
toward the house. Kate turns and beckons Jack, 
who zvtth an air of vexation follows sulkily. MARION 
and BEVERLEY look after them smiling, then turn and 
walk slowly toward the seat under the trellis) 

Beverley. That was awfully good of Jack to get Forrest 



away and give me a chance to talk to you ! Moments are 
precious when one may have so few of them. 

Marion {demurely). I doubt if Jack had much to do 
with it. I fancy it was Kate's work. She had a reason 
for desiring to hear L,ieut. Forrest sing just now. 

Beverley. It was a desire that chimed in wonderfully 
well with mine, and I owe her many thanks for it. 

Marion. Don't be in too much haste about paying 
them. We can't always tell exactly what to be grateful 
for, you know. 

BEVERLEY {impetuously). I know- — 

{He pauses as FORREST'S voice in house rises, singing, 
" Her Bright Smile Haunts Me Still:"- Marion 
makes a motion zvith her hand to silence him and sitting 
down on bench appears to listen to the song xvith pleas- 
ure. BEVERLEY, on the contrary, is impatient. He 
takes off his sword and lays it across the table, then 
sits on arm of bench and would like to talk, but Ma- 
rion again makes motion silencing him until verse is 
ended. Then voice ceases and with an air of relief 
BEVERLEY sits down beside her on bench.) 

BEVERLEY. If you could only imagine what happiness 
it is to me to be here alone with you in this ideal spot you 
would understand that I know very well what to be grate- 
ful for. 

Marion {lightly). Oh, I don't doubt that you think you 
know very well, but — there's a bare possibility you may be 
mistaken. You'll admit that, I'm sure. 

BEVERLEY. I'll admit nothing of the kind. To be here 
with you is simply paradise. I can't be too grateful for it. 



I can't — {Forrest begins to sing- u Lorena. v ) Confound 
that fellow ! Isn't he ever going to stop? 

Marion. You told him to sing all his songs. How 
many does he know? 

BEVERLEY. About half a hundred. I hope Jack will 
choke him off. {Forrest stops at the cud of the first verse). 
Good ! Jack has choked him off ! 

Marion {mischievously). No doubt he will come back 
now to be thanked and complimented. 

Beverley. If he does, I'll shoot him ! It's no time to 
stand on considerations of friendship. I must talk to you ! 

Marion {with an air of wonder). But it strikes me 
that you have been talking to me ever since you came ! 

BEVERLEY. You know what I mean. I want to ask 
you if — if you have thought of me while I was away ? 

Marion. Oh, dear, yes. I think of all my friends — 
now and then. 

' Beverley {crestfallen). There isn't much comfort in 
being thought of together with all your friends — now and 
then. I would like you to thiuk of me alone, and all the 

Marion {laughing). You are reasonable, I declare. If 
I thought of you alone and all the time, when could I 
think of any one else ? 

Beverley. Why should you think of any one else. I 
think only of you. 

Marion {still laughing-). How very kind of you ! But 
you see I have a good many other persons to think of, and 
I can't be so — exclusive. 

Beverley {growing cold) . No, it's plain you can't be 
exclusive. I'm afraid you have no heart, Miss Warrington. 



Ma.- :. • : -jldij al:o r 1 -'. v.- t think that you are a very 
good judge of that, Captain Beverley. 

BK :.ey. I consider that I am a very good judge. I 
. - e been trying to find it long enough, and now I think 
that the only wise thing to do is to give up the search- 

K>» indifferently). If that is your opinion, I quite 
agree with you. It is the only wise thing to do 

BEVERLEY very angry). Because I am now sure that 
there is nothing to search, for. One man is just the same 
as another to you. All that we are good for (rising) is to 
minister to your love of admiration, and love of power. 

Marion [rising and also angry). And all that we are 
goec for :\ to mirh-.ter to your vanity I — ." v;"" t v ,e 
2. near, for an;. thing 

Bzyzzlzv. A no I v/ovho ^ anything -/yvner than a 

Mario:-" V.: are terrain'.;.- flatter: ng. 
Bevz?lzy So are ;. v; 

Tke\ ..< r J.t each other in angry nlence for a minute. 
Then BEVERLEY ^.'?'M a^ impatient gesture walks 
acroz~ front of stage t while BfARXOH resuming her 
xeat opens the novel vjhich still lies on the table and 
ostentatiously prete cad. Presently BevERLBI 

■pause: r nt of her 9 but she does not look up . 

h.v z?zz: 'very -tifty r I am afraic I have 'oeen r;o : e 
I beg your pardor. I i '. Varringt o d 

Marion <>/{^>' «/«?). It is unnecessarj Captain Be 


BZYZZZZY _-;;:.-. ; Bit ;.-„-; v/onic ezO' my 

ruoene^ if ; t ; !•:-. -v ... f h. -': — I mean how ; have ioveo 


you, how I have thought of you,, dreamed of you, carried 
your image in my heart, through— through everything! 
(His voice fails with emotion. He items abruptly and again 
walks across stage. Marion looks after him with an ex- 
pression of tenderness and regret, but when he turns to 
come back she looks quickly at book. He -pauses again be- 
fore her and speaks more calmly}. I've been a fool, of 
course, to think so much of a girl who is only a heartless 
flirt, but I never believed that of you — until now, I thought 
you had a heart under all your coquetry, and that I could 
find it. So you have been my comfort and inspiration in 
hardship and danger and battle. I've dreamed of you as I 
lay in the trenches and forgot that I was cold and wet and. 
hungry. I've thought of you when the order was given to 
storm the enemy's breastworks, and carried you with me in 
the rush upon them. I've been face to face with death and 
whispered to myself " Marion ! " (Marion looks tip at him 
with a yielding expression and half holds out her hand, 
when he goes on bitterly). And all the time you were 
thinking of me " now and then," together with your " other 
friends," and finding diversion in flirting with a contempt- 
ible coward who hasn't manhood enough to go to the front 
and strike a blow for his country !" Certainly I have been 
a fool — and more than a fool ! 

Marion (rising). I fully agree with you. You have 
been a fool, and you are very impertinent besides. How 
dare you to talk of my flirting with — with — 

Beverley (sarcastically). Your friend, Mr. George 
Stone. I dare because everybody knows how you amuse 
yourself with me, while your other lovers — one must speak 
of them in the plural ! — are facing death on the battle-field. 



I really can't say much for your taste. In your place I 
should try to induce him to put on a gray coat, if only for 
the sake of appearances. He might go into the quarter- 
masters department. That 's a safe place. 

Marion. Oh, you — you — you are perfectly detestable ! 

(She looks at him furiously ', then turns away and walks in 
a very dignified manner into the house. Forrest's 
voice is heard singing " Good-bye, Sweetheart, Good- 
bye ! " BEVERLEY sits down at table and buries his face 
in his hands. While singing goes on Mrs. WarRing- 
TON and GENERAL Dering a-ppear, coming slowly 
forzvard. Mrs. Warrington has fiowers in her 
hands. As nuisic ceases she says:) 

Mrs. W. I must go now, my dear General, to put these 
flowers in water and attend to some housekeeping duties. 
Dinner will be served very soon. Will you come in and 
rest until it is ready ? 

Gen. If you'll allow me, I will remain here. This gar- 
den is not only a charming place, but I see Capt. Beverley, 
with whom I wish to speak a few words. 

Mrs. W. Then I will leave you. (She smiles, bows 
and enters house). 

Gen. (going, over to Beverley, who rises as he ap- 
proaches). Sit down, Beverley. I want to consult you. 
(He sits down in chair and Beverley resumes his seat on 
bench). You know our scouts report the Yankees in great 
force very near by. 

Beverley. Yes, General, I know. 

Gen. They outnumber us so greatly that we have no 
alternative but to fall back until the rest of our division can 



come up. But I've thought of a plan by which we may 
possibly entrap them, cut them off from their main army 
and give them a severe lesson. 

BEVERLEY {with an air of attention). That would be 
capital. How have you thought of setting the trap ? 

Gen. I've thought — but we might as well put it down 
at once ! Have you paper and pencil about you ? 

BEVERLEY {drawing out note-book and -pencil). Here 
are both. 

Gen. Write then {dictating)-. "To Gen. Hill, com- 
manding First Cavalry Division. Learning that the enemy 
are near this place in overwhelming force I am about to 
fall back on Elliott's Run, where I shall await your ad- 

BEVERLEY {looking up with surprise). But I thought — 

Gen. Don't you understand ? Instead of going to El- 
liott's Run, which lies east of here, we'll swing around to 
the southwest and fall on the Yankee force in the rear, from 
the direction where they least expect us. We can surprise 
and cut them off in the prettiest manner imaginable if we 
can get this dispatch into their general's hands so as to mis- 
lead him. It must be done in a perfectly natural manner, 
however, or he will be sharp enough to suspect a trap. 

Beverley. One of the couriers must allow himself to 
be taken prisoner. 

Gen. {musingly). There is no other way, I suppose, but 
I'm afraid of their suspecting that, and if they did — well, 
then the trap would be a trap for us ! 

BEVERLEY {also musingly) . What else can we do ? 
( They both look thoughtful, and BEVERLEY half absently, 
tears leaf out of his note-book and lays it on open page 



of '•''Henry Esmond" while reflecting. Suddenly 
Jack comes hurriedly out of house, followed by scout, 
advances to Gen. Dering and salutes. The General 
and BEVERLEY start to their feet, and as he rises BEV- 
ERLEY by a careless motion of his hand closes the 
Jack. General, here's one of my men, who has just 
brought news that the enemy are at Miller's farm, within 
six miles of us. 

Gen. Ah ! {addressing scout). Are they advancing ? 
Scout (saluting). No, general. They don't know our 
strength. But their scouts are out in all directions. 

Gen. Then they'll learn it soon. {Looks at Jack). 
Major Warrington, have the order, " Boot and Saddle " 
sounded at once. Captain Beverley, transmit the same or- 
der to the other commands. We have no time to lose, but 
must get away immediately. 

Jack {saluting). Yes, general. 
{He turns and goes back to house, followed by scout). 
Beverley. And about the dispatch, general ? 
Gen. {waving his hand). No time for that now. We'll 
attend to it later. Send orders at once to get the men in 
motion. We don't want to be surprised. 

Beverley. No. 
{He -picks up his note-book and closing it puts it in his 
■pocket, forgetting he has torn out page, and goes has- 
tily to house. General follows more slowly. Stage 
remains empiy for a moment and then GEORGE STONE 
emerges from behind upper trellis, comes down and 
bending over table picks up novel). 
Stone. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but un- 



less I am mistaken there was a paper left in this book which 
may be of value. Where is it now? 

{Begins to turn over -pages, but has not yet found paper, 
when Marion comes hastily out of house and pauses 
at sight of him). 

Marion (with surprise). What, you still here ! I 
thought you went away long ago. 

Stone. I went down to the farther end of the garden. 
There wasn't much pleasure in staying here while those 
soldiers were absorbing your attention. 

Marion. Of course they absorbed my attention. Other 
men simply don't exist for a Southern woman when there 
are Confederate soldiers about. 

Stone (bitterly). I suppose not. Well, I'll relieve you 
of my presence ; but if you have no objection I will borrow 
this book. I've long wanted to read — " Henry Esmond " 

Marion (holding out her hand for the book). I'm sorry, 
but I can't let you have it. I haven't finished it myself 
and I'm at a very interesting part of the story. 

Stone (retaining the book). I will bring it back to- 

Marion (shaking her head). No, you can't have it. I 
came out specially to get it. (Aside). And because I 
thought Gordon might still be here. 

Kate (appearing in door of house and calling). Marion ! 
Marion ! Come quick ! They are going away — Jack and 
the General and all. 

(She disappears as bugles sound " Boot and Saddle.") 

Stone (%vi(h poorly repressed delight). Ah, the Yan- 
kees are coming ! 



Marion {looking at him indignantly). I believe you are 
glad ! I believe you are — 

Stone (interrupting). You can believe what you please. 
But you'd better go if you want to see the last of your Con- 
federate lovers. 

Marion (proudly). It won't be the last — you may be 
sure of that Meanwhile (she holds out her hand), I'll 
trouble you for my book, Mr. Stone. 

Stone (still retaining booh and turning over leaves while 
he looks furtively for paper). I'll take it into the house 
for you. 

Marion. No, I will accept no further service from you 
of any kind, and we don't care to see you at Warrington 
Court any more. Please understand that. 

STONE (finds paper and closing book hastily puts his 
hands with it behind him). You will be only too g-lad to 
see me when I come to Warrington Court again — if I do 

Marion. There are no possible circumstances under 
which I could be glad to see a traitor to his country — and 
if you welcome the Yankees that is what you are ! Mean- 
while (stamps her foot), give me my book. 
(STONE withdraws paper, holds it in one hand behind him 
and extends book to her with the other). 

Kate {reappearing in door). Marion ! 
(Marion snatches book and jlies toward house. As she 
disappears STONE brings forward paper and looks at 
it. Then, with violent gesture, crumples it in his 
hand and throws it down). 

Stone (passionately). Damn it — the wrong paper ! 
(Bugles sound again as the curtain falls). 




SCENE — The interior of a farm-house, a large room, -with 
a door and window at back. Also door on right, com- 
municating with another room. In one corner stands 
a spinning-wheel, there are some plain chairs, and a 
pine table, with writing materials and papers on it. 
At left of ^able sits Captain Porter, in uniform. 
At right STONE sits. He is in riding dress — breeches, 
buttoned leggings and short coat, and also carries a 
riding-whip. For details, see scene plot. 

PORTER {making some notes). We are much obliged for 
your information, Mr. Stone. I '11 mention you to the gen- 
eral and we '11 see that your plantation is protected. And 
this is all you know ? You didn't find out anything about 
Dering's plans ? We 'd like very much to learn something 
of his movements. 

Stone {regretfully). I 'm sorry to say that I couldn't 
find out anything. As I have told you, I was at Warring- 
ton Court yesterday when Dering was there, and I even 
saw him in the garden holding what I am sure was an im- 
portant conversation with his chief of staff, but I couldn't 
approach near enough to hear what they said. 

Porter. That was a pity. You heard absolutely noth- 

STONE {after hesitating a moment). I heard nothing 
but I saw something. I saw Gen. Dering dictate a note, 



probably a dispatch, which the officer wrote off, and left in 
a book which chanced to be lying on the table at which they 
were seated. 

Porter. How did that happen ? 

Stone. Oh, a scout came up with the news of your be- 
ing close at hand and put all other matters out of their 

Porter And did you make no effort to get that paper ? 

Stone. The moment I had a chance I attempted to get 
it, but I got hold of the wrong paper. 

Portor {suspiciously). The wrong paper ! 

Stone. I drew out what was only a book mark. 

Porter. And didn't you look for the other ? 

Stone. I had no opportunity to do so. The book was 
taken from be by — a woman. 

Porter {contemptously). You might have managed to 
keep it in spite of a woman, I should think. 

Stone. I saw no reason to keep it. You see I thought 
I had the paper. 

Porter {drily). I see. But it was a pity ! We 'd give 
a good deal for that paper. 

Stone. So would I. {He -pauses an instant). But it 
may be possible to get it yet. 

Porter {sharply). How ? 

Stone. By going to Warrington Court, and exercising 
some compulsion over the person who must have it in her 

Porter. Who is that ? 

Stone Miss Warrington. The note was left in a 
novel which she was reading. If she has opened the book 



since she took it from me, she has found the paper, and 
I 'm sure she hasn't destroyed it. 

Porter. Yet that would be the most natural thing for 
her to do. 

Stone. Perhaps so, but she won't do it. I know her 
too well. 

Porter. What will she do, then ? 

Stone. She '11 keep it, and — 

{He breaks off as Sergeant enters and salutes officer). 

Porter. Well, what is it, sergeant? 

Sergeant. We 've just taken two prisoners, captain. 

Porter. Prisoners of what kind ? 

Sergeant. A woman and a nigger, sir. 

Porter. Why on earth did you make prisoners of a 
woman and nigger? 

Sergeant. They rode into our lines believing it was 
the Confederate camp, so I held them, thinking they might 
be conveying information to the enemy. 

Porter {indifferently). It 's not likely. They are 
probably only some of the country people, blundering 

Sergeant {doubtfully). They don't look like that, sir. 
The woman 's a lady, and the nigger 's one of the quality 
kind, and they are well mounted. 

Porter {impatiently). I can't be bothered with women 
and niggers ! The men of the country are as much as I can 
attend to. But you can send these people in and I '11 ask 
them a few questions before we let them go. 

Sergeant. Very good, sir. But you don't mean to let 
their horses go ? 



Porter. Take the horses, of course. 
Sergeant {saluting). Very good, sir. 

{Retires with an air of satisfaction. During this conver- 
sation Stone has gone to window at back of stage 
and looked out. He now returns to officer ; with signs 
of excitement in his manner). 

Stone. The game 's in our hands, captain ! That 's 
Miss Warrington out there ! 

Porter. The deuce it is ! [Rises and goes to window, 
where he looks out, adding as he returns to seat)'. What do 
you suppose that means ? 

Stone {excitedly). It means that she has the paper and 
is trying to take it to the Confederates. It is just what I 
would have expected of her. 

Porter. Then she is very obliging to save us the 
trouble of going after it. If you are right and she proves 
to have it, I '11 not forget to report that we owe our knowl- 
edge to you. It will increase our obligations to you. 

Stone {leaning over him and speaking eagerly). You 
can repay them all if you will let me deal with this pris- 
ioner — after you have taken the paper from her. 

Porter {laughing). You have a score to pay off, have 
you ? Very well, I '11 turn her over to you as soon as I 
have extracted my information. But hadn't you better be 
out of sight at first ? 

Stone. Yes, yes. Where shall I go ? 

Porter {-pointing toward side door). There's a room 
where you can wait. 

(STONE goes out hastily, while MARION enters, followed by 
Ned, and escorted by sergeant, who then retires. 



Marion wears a riding-habit and is -perfectly com- 
posed in manner. She walks forward to front of 
stage and shows great surprise when officer simply 
looks at her and does not rise. She gazes at him with 
an expression which changes from surprise to disdain). 

Porter. What was your object, madam, in coming 
within our lines ? 

Marion {turning to Ned). Bring me a chair. 

(Ned hastens to bring one forward and places it for her. 
She sits down, lays her whip across her lap and be- 
gins to pull off one of her gloves). 

PORTER {raising his voice slightly). Why are you within 
our lines ? 

Marion (coolly, without raising her eyes) . By an acci- 
dent, of course. 

Porter. What accident ? 

Marion. The accident that you happen to be occupy- 
ing a position which I thought the Confederates occupied. 

Porter. So you were in search of the Confederate 

Marion {lifting her eye-brows). Did you suppose I was 
in search of yours ? 

PORTER [growing irritated). Be good enough to an- 
swer my questions directly. Why were you looking for the 
Confederate camp? 

Marion {coolly). I don't like to be discourteous even to 
a — hem ! enemy, but I cannot see that that is any business 
of yours. 

Porter {severely). If you are wise you'll understand 
that it is very much of my business, and unless you tell me 



what your object was in going to the Confederate camp 
111 hold yon a prisoner. 

Marion (a little startled). If yon mnst know then, — 
thongh I don't admit that it concerns yon in the least — I 
was going to see — my brother. 

Porter. Who is yonr brother? 

Marion. Major Warrington, commanding Warrington's 
Light Horse. Yon've heard of them, I'm snre. 

Porter. Yon are the danghter, then, of the rebel. Gen- 
eral Warrington? 

Marion. I am the danghter of General Warrington, 
and the sister of Major Warrington, and the consin of Cap- 
tain Warrington and Lientenant Warrington and pnvate 
Warrington, all of the Confederate army. 

Porter Yon seem to be a very rebel fan. 

Marion. On the contrary, we are a very loyal family — 
absolnteh* loyal to orrr State and to the Sonth. 

Porter : snceringly \. Yonr State It's to the Fedeaal 
c tmment yonr loyalty is dne. 

Marion. And pray, what created the Federal govern- 
ment bnt the States, and how can any power cre= fce s. power 
greaitr than itself? 

Porter (aside). The ver ~omen have the States- 
?.^'htsargnmentat the end of their tongnes ! 7. 2<farion). 
We won't enter into a political discnssion. Yon are rebels 
from onr point of view, and therefore we call }'on so. 

Marion (scornfully). Yon might call ns cannibals, bnt 
that wonldn't make ns so. And by calling ns rebels yon 
prove fast :~". things: first, yonr ignoaance — 

Porter \p*g» _ Oh ! 

Mabkhh cmlmi And secondh - : nr hat manner; 


Porter {exasperated). You Southern women are cer- 
tainly the very devil for impudence and — (he pauses). 

Marion. Courage perhaps. We couldn't well be South- 
ern women and lack that. 

Porter {roughly). You'll need all you have, if you 
don't tell me plainly what your object was in seeking the 
rebel camp. 

Marion {with dignity). I've told you all that you have 
any right to know. 

Porter. Then I'll see what your servant can tell. 
(Turns to Ned). Come here, boy! (Ned advances) 
What brought you here? 

Ned. I come with Miss Marion, sah. 

Porter. I know that, but what brought Miss Marion? 

Ned. She done tol' you. She come, to see Mass Jack 
and Mass — 

Marion (wamingly). Ned ! 

PORTER {addressing her sternly). If you speak to this 
boy again, I'll send you out and examine him alone. (To 
Ned). Go on. Who else did she come to see ? 

Ned. Gen'l. Dering, who was at we-all's house yistiddy? 

Porter. And what did she want with General Dering? 

Ned. She never tol' me, sah, but I spects she wanted 
him to let Mass Jack go home awhile. 

Porter. Now, look here ! You know that having 
come within our lines you are free — 

Ned (grinning broadly). Is I, sah ? 

Porter. Undoubtedly. And since you are free you 
needn't have the least fear of that — young woman. She 
has no longer any power over you. 



Ned. Ain't I bleeged to go home with her, sah ? 

Porter. Certainly not. Don't I tell you that you are 

Ned {with expression of delight). Golly ! That's good 
news ! 

Marion {amazed), Ned! 

Porter. So now tell me exactly what you know about 
this expedition of hers. 

Ned. Yes, sah. What I knows is adzactly dis — Miss 
Marion she come early dis morning an' tol' me to have de 
hosses ready fuh her an' me to go ridin' and to be sho' and 
say nuffin to Miss Lucy or Miss Kate, kase dey wouldn't 
want her to be ridin' over the country, with the Yankees 
all about so permiscuous. So I gets de hosses ready and 
Miss Marion she steals out to de stable an' we sets off, an' 
den she says to me, " Ned, we'se gwine to the Confederate 
camp. Do you know where it is?" An' I tells her I 
don't, but I'll fin' out. So I axes one man an' another, an' 
one says here and another says there an' at las' — 

Porter {impatiently). Confound you ! What I want 
to know is whether or not she told you why she was going 
to the camp ? 

Ned {solemnly). No, sah. She never tol' me nufhn 
'cept she wanted to go, and what Miss Marion wants we all 

Porter. Very well. It's clear that you don't know 
anything, so you may go. 

Marion {starting up). And I also ? 

Porter. No. I shall detain you until I learn a little 

more about your object in lookiug for the Confederate 




Marion {in consternation). You will detain me, a pris- 
oner ! Oh, you can't mean it ! I must go home. Mam- 
ma will be very anxious — 

Porter {sarcastically). You should have thought of 
that before you left home. 

Marion. But what have I done? What right have 
you to keep me ? 

Porter {with a mocking bow). The right of force, Miss 

Marion. O, what a contemptable — what a cowardly 
thing ! I didn't think that even Yankees fought women ! 

Porter. When women go out of their way to carry in- 
formation — 

Marion. But I 'm carrying no information. How 
could I. I haven't any to carry ! 

Porter. We '11 make quite sure that you don't carry 
any. ( Turning again to Ned). Don't you hear ? You 
may go. 

Ned {eagerly). But I wants to stay, Mass Cap'en, if 
you please, sah. I — I 'd ruther not go back. 

Porter. That 's natural enough, but we can't have 
niggers hanging around the camp. You must lookout for 
yourself — only for your own sake, you 'd better take care 
to keep within our lines. 

Ned {effusively). I will, Mass Cap'en, I will, sah. I '11 
take good care not to be ketched outside of 'em. 

Marion {looking at him in sorrowful amazement). Ned ! 

Ned {avoiding her eyes). An' I kin go den, Mass Cap'en ? 

Porter {shortly). How often must I tell you so ? {He 
turns and calls): Sergeant ! {Enter Sergeant). See this 
negro off ! 



{Exit Sergeant and Ned. Marion stands motionless, 
watching them as they go out, and then turns indig- 
nantly to officer. 

Marion. Unless you are doing this out of sheer brutal- 
ity — to show your power over a Southern woman — I can 
not imagine what your reason is. You have nothing to 
gain by keeping me a prisoner. 

PORTER {rising, coming around the table and standing 
before her). That, Miss Warrington, remains to be seen. 
I am quite convinced that there is more in your visit to the 
Confederate camp than merely a desire to see your brother, 
and the best thing you can do is to tell me at once what 
that object was, or if you have any papers about you to 
give them to me. 

Marion {throwing back her head defiantly). I have 

Porter. Take care how you make the assertion if you 
chance to have any, for in case they are found on you — 

Marion {starting back). Found on me ! 

Porter {coolly). Found on you, because you must un- 
derstand that if you persist in denial it will be necessary to 
search you. 

Marion ( passionately). You would not dare ! 

Porter. You forget where you are. 

Marion {regaining her composure). I did forget. For 
a moment I fancied that although in the hands of the 
enemy, I might be speaking to — a gentleman. I see my 

Porter {angered). By Heavens, you 'd better take care 
how you give rein to that tongue of yours. 

Marion. Oh, I can well believe that one who is so 



brave and chivalrous as to insult a helpless woman would 
be quite capable of anything else. 

Porter {sneeringly). We don't pretend to be " chival- 
rous." We leave that to your Southern gentleman. 

Marion. Yes, you leave it to them. There is not the 
faintest doubt of that. 

{She turns away from him zvith an air of disdain, and 
walks to and fro. He stands watching her, with ex- 
pression of indecision. Presently he speaks harshly). 

PORTER. Miss Warrington ! [She pauses and looks at 
him). I know your object in trying to reach the Confed- 
erate camp. I know that you have in your possession a 
papei containing important information. Waste no more 
time but give it to me. 

Marion [defiantly). I have nothing of the kind. 

PORTER. I don't believe it. Your face, your eyes tell 
me that you are hiding something. Well, then — I must 
find it ! 

{He advances toward her. She retreats, raising her rid- 
ingwhip threateningly). 

Marion {passionately). Don't dare to touch me ! 
Porter. Then give me the paper. 
Marion. My word is enough. I have no information — 
Porter. If you're roughly 'handled it's your own fault. 

[He rushes at her. She strikes him violently over the 
shoulders with her whip. He wrests it from her, 
throws it aside, struggles with her and finally draws 
paper from her pocket). 

PORTER {triumphantly). I knew you had it ! 


Marion {-panting). It's only a note which Captain 
Beverley left accidentally at our house, and — and I wanted 
to return it to him. I told the truth when I said I had no 
information. There's no information for him in that. 

Porter {running his eye over -paper). But there's a 
great deal for us ! A dispatch, giving outline of Dering's 
movements. This is rare good luck ! I must go to head- 
quarters at once. Meanwhile, I'll leave you here — 

Marion {despairingly). Why should you keep me a 
prisoner ? 

Porter. Because you are too dangerous to be set free. 
If you have played a part to lead us into a trap — and you 
Southern women are equal to anything ! — I warn you that 
the consequences will be very serious for you. 

Marion. They are very serious for me as it is. I've 
given you information that I would rather have died than 
have given ! I — I only hope it is a trap ! 

Porter {grimly). For your own sake you'd better hope 
that it isn't. {He turns and calls:) Sergeant ! {Sergeant 
enters and salutes). Hold this woman a close prisoner 
until my return. 

Sergeant {saluting). Yes, captain. 
{They go out together, and guard is seen through window 
pacing up and down outside. Marion stands for 
some time in attitude of despair. Then she comes 
slowly forward, sits down in chair beside table, and 
crying in despairing tone, " Oh, Gordon /" puts her 
elbows on table and buries her face in her hands. 
While she remains so, door of inner room opens be- 
hind her. Stone comes out and advances to her). 
Stone. Marion ! 



Marion {springing up and turning to confront him). 
You ! ( They face each other for a moment and then she 
asks in a half-hopeful tone). Are you — a prisoner, too ? 

Stone {looking a little embarrassed) . No. (She draws 
back farther from him and he adds hurriedly). I — I'm 
here on business. 

Marion. Business ! What business can a Southern 
man have in the enemy's camp ? 

Stone. My business is to obtain protection for myself 
and my friends. 

Marion. How ? In business {she emphasises the word) 
there is always value given for value received. What are 
you giving for Yankee protection? 

Stone. That doesn't matter — 

Marion (passionately, advancing nearer). It's all that 
matters ! For what you are giving is your honor? Oh, 
George {her voice takes a tone of keen sorrow) I never 
really believed you could be a spy — a traitor — 

Stone (recovering himself and with an air of bravado). 
Call it what you like ! The truth is that I don't care to 
fight for losing causes — 

Marion {with intense scorn). You don't apparently 
care to fight for any cause ! 

STONE (ignoring the interruption). And the South is 
bound to lose in this contest. She hasn't the resources to 
keep it up, and the other side has them. There's the case 
in a nutshell. 

Marion. I know as well as you that we haven't re- 
sources, but we have men — such men as the other side can't 
buy with all their money ! 



Stone {coolly). And these men are being killed every- 

Marion {with a gasp). So they are, but — but they aTe 
not all gone, and as long as they can fight and the women 
can work, the South will never be subdued. 

Stone {obstinately). There's just one end bound to 
come, I tell you. 

Marion {turning upon hini). And it is men like you 
who help to bring it ! But if it were to come, do you think 
these invaders would gain anything? Do you think the 
South will not always remember her dead heroes — and those 
who killed them ? 

Stone {sneeringly). The South will forget her heroes 
quickly enough when there 's money to be made and power 
to be gained by forgetting. 

Marion. Never. 

Stone. And she '11 do more than forget — she '11 disown 
all they are fighting and dying for. 

Marion {passionately). If I thought so, I would be 
ashamed to call myself a Southern woman, and I should 
pray to die with the last man who carries the Southern 
Cross ! 

Stone {shrttgging his shoulders). All this would be 
very fine if you could hope for success — 

Marion {more passionately). Oh, you — you traitor, 
not only to your country but to all that is high and noble, 
don't you know that success isn't everything? Of course 
we will succeed — we simply can't fail with such men fight- 
ing for us ! But even if your prophecies are fulfilled, if we 
are overpowered by numbers, failure can't change the justice 
of our cause, it can't tarnish the splendid deeds of our sol- 



diers, or put a single stain on the spotless glory of our flag ! 

Stone {still sneering). Such sentiments are all very 
well now, with your flag still flying and your men in the 
field, but they won't be very profitable — after defeat. 

Marion {proudly). When the South learns to count 
profit and loss where honor is concerned, her foes can bring 
her no deeper degradation But let me tell you that if the 
worse comes to pass, if her soldiers are all slain, her flag 
lowered, and — and the men who remain forget and disown 
what we are doing and suffering now, then her women "v* ill 
take up that flag to honor it and all that it stands for. And 
the heroes who died under it will never be forgotten, as 
long as a Southern woman lives to keep their memory in 
her heart. 

Stone {with unwilling admiration). You are capable 
of it — no one doubts that. But all this is useless ! I only 
want to make you understand my position. 

Marion. I understand it perfectly. You care only for 
what is "profitable." So did Judas. 

{She turns and walks contemptuously axvay from him, to- 
wards left of stage). 

Stone {following her and speaking angrily). It would 
be more profitable for you to be a little less insulting. You 
forget that you are not surrounded by gray coats at present. 

Marion. I am not likely to forget it. But don't you 
forget that they will come back. 

Stone. You needn't hope for it. But, even if so, they 
are not here now, and you {he comes closer and stands over 
her, speaking with emphasis) are in my power. 

Marion {turning and looking at him coolly). Indeed ! 



When did it come to pass that a spy became a commanding 
officer, even in the Yankee army ? 

Stone {furiously). You may sneer as much as you 
like. I repeat that you are in my power — you have been 
handed over to me — 

Marion. In reward for your highly honorable services, 
I suppose. 

Stone (trying to restrain himself). It's a good thing 
for you that you are a woman — 

Marion {quickly). I think, rather, that it is a good 
thing for you. If I were a man I would kill you. A be- 
trayer of his country deserves death. 

Stone. You would kill me ? And yet you know that 
I love you. 

Marion. I don't know it ! And I won't allow you to 
say it ! I won't be dishonored by the love of a — 

Stone {seizing her wrist). Don't say that word again ? 
Even you may go too far. I'll listen to no more insults. 
You are not now playing queen at Warrington Court. 

Marion {standing perfectly still and looking at him with 
disdainful eyes). But you are returning the hospitality of 
Warrington Court — as one would expect of you ! 

Stone {dropping her arm and turning away). You 
make a man forget everything — except yourself ! And not 
even your scorn can make him do that. Mai ion, you 
know that I love you, and you know that you have en- 
couraged me to believe — 

Marion {interrupting). No, no ! I never encouraged 
you. I was only amusing myself. There was nobody else 
— and your admiration gratified my vanity. It was all mis- 



erable vanity — nothing more — and now I'm punished — oh, 
I'm bitterly punished and humiliated besides ! 

{She turns away from him and walks to chair on right and 
droops into it. STONE watches her for a moment, stand- 
ing with his back against table. Then he speaks med- 

Stone. I suppose it's true. I suppose you were only 
amusing yourself — and I was only of use to fill a gap while 
there were no uniforms about — but {advancing, bending 
over her and speaking in warning tone) your play was 
deadly earnest to me and it's going to be deadly earnest to 
you now. If you don't promise to marry me — ( Takes her 

Marion {springing up and snatching her hand angrily 
from him). Marry you ! I'd die sooner ! 

Stone {coolly). It doesn't happen to be a question of dy- 
ing. If you don't promise to marry me I will see that 
Warrington Court is burned to the ground. 

Marion {scornfully). Do you think my father would 
have me preserve his house by dishonoring his name? 
Burn Warrington Court if you like ! 

Stone {coldly, continuing). And your mother will be 
sent North as a prisoner — 

Marion. You dare not touch her! What has she 

Stone. Together with yourself, she will be held on a 
charge of conveying information to the enemy. 

Marion {with vehement gesture). You know it is false ! 

Stone. The proof is in the paper taken from you in 
this room. 



(Marion stands stricken, looking straight before her and 
saying to herself, "My mother ! v Stone -watches 
her for a moment zvith an expression of triumph. Then 
he advances toward her). 

Stone {quietly). It is as I told you, Marion. My turn 
has come. I can do what I have said — that is, I can cause 
it to be done — or I can protect you — save your home, see 
that your mother suffers no indignity, make everything 
easy for you. And all I ask in return for doing this is that 
you will be to me in earnest what you were when you were 
" amusing yourself," and that you will promise to marry 

Marion (looking at him). And you would trust me if I 
promised — under these circumstances ? 

Stone. Yes, for I am sure you would never break a 
promise once given. 

Marion (proudly). Thank you for such belief in my 
honor. I will justify it. Do what you like — or may have 
power given to you to do — to Warrington Court, to myself 
and to my mother. Nothing on earth would induce me to 
marry you. That is my last word. 

(She -walks in a dignified manner over to table and sits 
down at left side of it, with her face averted from 
him. He follows, and with one hand on table bends 
over her). 

Stone (threateningly). You had better consider. I 
mean all I have said. (She takes no notice of him). You 
may not believe me, but you are, and will remain, abso- 
lutely in my power. (He pauses, she still ignores him). 
Your pride will not save you, but I am giving you a chance 



to save yourself. If you don't take it now you won't have 
it later ! {He pauses again, she is still silent and motion- 
less). Then take the consequences ! {brings his fist down 
violently on table—and don't forget that you have brought 
them on yourself ! 

{He goes out by door where guard is walking. Marion re- 
mains motionless for a moment longer. Then, gazing 
in front of her, she echoes his last words in a heart- 
broken tone, " Yes, I have — brought them — on my- 
self I" Spreads her arms out on table, buries her 
face upon them and so lies, overwhelmed. A minute 
of silence follows. Then side door cautiously opens 
and Ned's head appears. He looks around, catches 
sight of guard passing window and retreats suddenly. 
After an instant he puts his head out again, sees Ma- 
rion and loudly clears his throat. Just as she lifts 
her head, guard appears at window again, and Ned 
again draws out of sight. She looks around, sees 
nothing, and sighing deeply sits in attitude of despond- 
ency , gazing vacantly before her. For the third time 
Ned's head appears, when guard is out of sight, and 
this time he calls, " Miss Marion ! '' Marion springs 
to her feet and advances toward him. 

Marion. Oh, Ned ! — how did you get here ? 

Ned. I come back an' clum' in by de window to ax you 
what you's gwine to do ? 

Marion {sorrowfully). I don't know. What can I do ? 
If I could climb out of the window, and you had the horses 
ready — 

Ned {indignantly). Dese Yankees done stole our hosses ! 



Marion. Oh, the miserable thieves ! They've taken 
my Gypsy ! 

{Guard appears at window and Ned's head disappears, to 
re-appear when guard has passed again). 

Ned {still indignantly). They took Gypsy and Stone- 
wall, too, an' tol' me I could walk — an' dat's what dey calls 
freedom ! 

Marion. I thought you had forsaken me, Ned, when 
that Yankee told you that you were free — I really did. But 
I ought to have known better. 

Ned. Yes'm {he grins). I fooled him, kase I thought 
he'd let me stay heah, an' I hadn't no notion of leaving you 
by yourself. What'd Miss Lucy an' Mass Jack say to me 
ef I did? 

Marion. Perhaps — {Guard appears and Ned again 
disappears. She stands in a rejlective attitude until his 
head is seen again. Then she says quickly :) Ned, there's 
no good in your staying here with me. You can't help me 
to escape, and if you did we couldn't get away, since they've 
stolen our horses. But you are at liberty, so you go home 
as fast as you can and tell Miss Kate that she must find a 
way to let Captain Beverley know that the Yankees have 
taken from me a paper which he left in a book in our garden 
yesterday. Can you remember that ? 

Ned. Yes'm. De Yankees has got a paper what Cap'en 
Beverley lef in our gyahden yistiddy. 

Marion. Tell her that I was trying to find him in or- 
der to give it to him, when they took me. It's an import- 
ant dispatch and General Dering must know that the Yan- 
kees have it. Now go — quick, quick ! And tell mamma 



that I'm — I'm safe, and she mustn't worry about me. Only 
let Kate make haste to send word about the dispatch to the 
Confederate camp. And if she sends you, Ned, you must 
be sure to find the right camp this time. 

NED {nodding emphatically). I will — sho' ! 

{He disappears finally, as guard again re-appears at win- 
dow. Marion throws up her arms with a despairing 
gesture, clasps them behind her head, and, coming 
slowly back to chair, falls in attitude of despair on 
-floor beside it, as the curtain falls. 





SCENE — A forest glade with drop-scene at back represent- 
ing -woods, and thickets of -pine or cedar, arranged to 
conceal right and left entrances, but leaving centre 
space clear. Immediately in front of thicket on right 
lies the trunk, or part of the trunk, of a fallen tree. 
This and all about it should be made to look as wild 
and natural as possible. 

Into this glade from right enter KATE and Ned. 
KATE -wears a dress such as a girl would naturally 
wear at home in the morning — a lawn, very simply 
made, or something of the kind. There are briars and 
brambles trailing to her skirt, she carries her hat of 
rough straw in her hand, and has an appearance of 
weariness and exhaustion. Ned is dressed in this, as 
in the other acts, as a " house servant " would be 
dressed — neatly, yet with no effect of spruceness. He 
is probably wearing some of Jack's discarded clothing. 
lie exhibits every appearance of deep sympathy and 
concern for Kate's fatigue. When they enter the 
glade, emerging from behind thicket, she perceives 
fallen tree and throws herself down on it, zvith an air 
of exhaustion. The light is that of late afternoon. 

Kate. I'm so tired, I don't feel as if I could take an- 



other step ! And I'm afraid we're going in the wrong di- 
rection to find the Confederate camp. Oh, Ned, what are 
we to do ? 

Ned (sympathetically, dropping on the ground beside 
her). I knows yon is jes' fit to drap, Miss Kate, but I 
reckon the only thing we kin do is to go on. Dem niggers 
what I talked wid awhile back says de Confed'rates is sut- 
tenly out in dis direction, an' we's boun' to come up wid'em 

Kate (despairingly). What do you call soon ? It seems 
to me we've walked fifty miles since we left home, and we 
haven't found them yet. 

Ned (shaking his head). No ma'am. We ain't walked 
more'n ten, kase we's made so many short cuts. 

Kate. The short cuts were the worst. I thought I 
should have died in that swamp ! 

Ned. But we was 'bleeged to go dat way, kase de roads 
about dar was jes' full of Yankees. 

Kate. But how do you know we aren't lost ? There's 
no road here. 

Ned. Law, Miss Kate, you can't lose dis chile. Me an' 
Mass Jack's been rabbit-huntin' an' coon-huntin' all over 
dese woods. I knows whar we is, an' we'll come out in de 
big road in a little while. 

Kate (rising). Well, we must go on. I may drop down 
dead with fatigue, but if I do, Ned, you mustn't stop. You 
must just leave me and find the camp, and tell Mass Jack 
about that paper. Promise me you'll do that if I fail. 

Ned (who has also risen, shaking his head vheemently). 
I can't promise dat, Miss Kate. I can't leave you lyin' 



dead an' go sarchin' for Mass Jack. What'd he say to me 
when I foun' him ? 

Kate {-pausing and speaking -with great earnestness). 
Ned, you must promise ! If you don't I — I'll haunt you 
after I'm dead. 

Ned {startled). Good L,awd, Miss Kate, don't you do 
dat ! I'll — I'll promise you anything ruther than fuh you 
to harnt me. 

Kate {solemnly). Then remember that it is a promise. 
If I drop dead, you are to leave me and go as fast as ever 
you can to find your Mass Jack. 

Ned. Yes'm. I — I promises. I'll do it sho'. But 
{anxiously) you ain't gwine to drap dead, is you, Miss 

Kate. Not if I can help it — but I feel as if I might — 
Oh ! {she starts) I hear men's voices ! They may be Yan- 
kees. Let us hide, Ned — quick, quick ! 

( They hurriedly conceal themselves behind thicket on right. 
Enter Jack and FoRREST/row left). 

Jack. I was sure I heard voices in these woods, and if 
there are any Yankee scouts about we want to capture 
them. The general is very anxious that the enemy shan't 
learn our exact whereabouts. 

Forrest. When we dismounted I, too, thought that I 
heard voices in this direction. We couldn't both have been 
mistaken and we must find the talkers. Spies are worse 
than scouts. {He goes behind thicket, there is a cry, a 
scuffle and he emerges^ dragging Ned). I've found this 
negro suspiciously concealing himself. 

Jack {starting). Ned ! 



Ned. Oh, bress de L,awd, it's Mass Jack ! (As Forrest 
releases him he turns and runs back toward bushes, crying), 
Miss Kate I — Miss Kate ! Here's Mass Jack hisself ! 

Jack. Has the fellow gone mad ? Ned — Ned ! 

(Kate emerges from bushes, without her hat, and rushes 
toward him). 

Kate. Oh, Jack! 
Jack. Kate ! 

(She falls into his arms, and he supports her with evident 
amazement and concern). 

Jack. What is the meaning of this ? Kate, my dearest 
girl, how do you come to be here ? 

Kate (half -laughing, half-crying). Oh, Jack, I — I'm 
so glad to find you ! I — I was afraid we never would find 
you. We've been looking for you all day. 

Jack. What has happened? But never mind — rest a 
little before you try to talk ! 

(He supports her to fallen tree, and sitting beside her 
makes her lean against him, while FORREST kneeling 
on other side fans her with his hat). 

Forrest. She's completely done up ! 

Kate (making an effort). No, no — I'm only a little 
tired. Ned and I left the Court this morning and we've 
walked — Oh, we've walked miles and miles and miles ! 

Ned. We come all de short cuts, Mass Jack — by Car- 
son's Mill, an' long de head o' de mill-pon', an' through de 
Cypress swamp. 

Jack. Good heavens ! You've done that on foot, Kate ! 
Why didn't you ride ? 



Ned. De Yankees is done tuk our hosses, Mass Jack — 
stole de las' one of 'em ! 

Jack. Then the Yankees have reached the Court ! 

Kate. Yes. Just before we left a party of them came 
and carried off the horses — all our dear horses, Jack ! So 
I had to come on foot — there wasn't anything else to do — 
for I've important news. 

Jack. What is it ? If it's only that the Yankees have 
reached the Court — 

Kate. Oh, it's much more than that. A dreadful 
thing has happened ! The Yankees have got one of Gen. 
Dering's dispatches ! 

Jack [starting). The devil they have ? How ? 

Kate. And they've got Marion, too ! 

Jack {amazed). Got Marion ! 

Kate. Yes, yes. They are holding her a prisoner, and 
(despairingly) there's no telling what they'll do to her — 

FORREST {soothingly). Oh, they won't do anything to 
her — they can't, you know. But how did it happen that 
she was made prisoner? 

Kate. It was all on account of the dispatch ! 

Forrest. What had Miss Warrington to do with that ? 

Kate. A great deal — they took it from her ! 

Jack. But how came she to have it ? 

Kate {impatiently). It's a long story and I can't tell it 
to you now. Marion sent me word to make haste and let 
General Dering know. {Rises). We must get on — or 
{sitting down again) perhaps you had better go, and leave 
me here — 

Jack. It's likely we'll leave you ! We'll take you right 
along with us to the camp and you can tell your story as 



we go. Come, sweetheart ! {Lifts her up) . Where's 
your hat ? 

Kate (glancing around vaguely). Oh, I don't know, 
and it doesn't matter. Where are your horses ? 

Jack. We left them on the edge of the woods with an 
orderley. I'll put you on his horse. Do you think you 
can ride on a cavalry saddle ? 

Kate. You've forgotten a great deal, or you wouldn't 
ask the question. 

Jack. It's true. I ought to have remembered that you 
can ride anything — " from a broomstick to a flash of light- 

Kate (laughing). The first certainly and a cavalry sad- 
dle besides. 

Ned. An' how's I gwine, Mass Jack? 

Jack. Lieut. Forrest will take you up behind him — eh, 
Forrest ? 

Forrest. Of course. He deserves to ride with a major- 
general. Come, Ned ! 

(All go off on left, and, after stage is clear, singing is heard 
behind drop scene, which slowly rises to disclose). 


(Confederate camp. Background of woods. A tent at 
right of stage. At left a group of soldiers in cavalry 
uniform taking their ease, while singing, " Tenting 
on the old Camp -ground." To make good effect, there 
should be a double quartette of voices. This scene 
ought to be as realistic as possible. After second verse, 
men begin to talk). 
First soldier. I wonder what we are waiting for, 



boys? It isn't like the general to be so quiet, with the 
Yanks close at hand ! Why the devil ain't he up and at 
'em ! 

Second soldier. He knows what he's about — you may 
bet your rations on that. He's only waiting for something 
— reliable information, most likely — and then he'll fall on 
'em when they're looking for him least. That's Dering's 

Sergeant. Well, we can't hear the call to " Boot and 
Saddle " too soon for me. 

[Enter BEVERLEY from tent). 

BEVERLEY {coming forward). You'll hear it soon, boys, 
None of the scouts in yet, sergeant ? 

Sergeant. Not yet, captain. The major went out 
himself not long ago, but he isn't back yet. 

BEVERLEY. I hope he won't get caught. He's daring 
to rashness, the major. Well, boys, while we wait let's 
have a song or two. I'll sing with you. 

Sergeant. That's good, boys ! Let's have our own 
song — the cavalry song ! 

First soldier {who is also leading voice). Yes, our own 
song — here goes ! 

{He begins " The Cavalier's Glee, v and others join in with 
great spirit). 

" Spur on, spur on, we love the bounding 
Of barbs that bear us to the fray, 
The charge our bugles now are sounding, 
And our bold Dering* leads the way. 
The path of honor lies before us, 
Our hated foeinen gather fast, 

♦Correctly, "Stuart." 



At home bright eyes are sparkling for us, 
We will defend them to the last. 
At home bright eyes are sparkling for us, 
We will defend them to the last. 

" Spur on, spur on, we love the rushing 

Of steeds that spurn the turf they tread, 
We'll through the Northern ranks go crushing, 
With our proud battle-flag o'erhead. 
The path of honor, etc. ' ' 

Sergeant {rising and Ivokmg of). Yonder comes the 
major now — and with a woman ! 

Soldier. Maybe she's bringing information. The wo- 
men often do. 

(Enter from left Jack, Kate Forrest and Ned. Bev- 
ERLEY advances toward them). 

BEVERLEY. Well, Warrington, we've been thinking 
that perhaps you had met the enemy and were theirs. But 
it seems you've made a capture. (Starts). What, Miss 
Conyers 1 

Kate (holding out her hand). I know you are surprised 
to see me, Captain Beverley. 

BEVERLEY (taking her hand). Very much surprised, 
but more pleased that you have found your way to our 
camp. Perhaps you've come to bring us news of the exact 
whereabouts of the enemy ! 

Kate (sorrowfully). Yes, I bring you that. They are 
at Warrington Court. 

BEVERLEY (startled). At Warrington Court ! And your 
cousin — your aunt — where are they? 

Kate. Aunt Lucy is at the Court, but Marion — Oh, 
Captain Beverley, Marion is a prisoner in the hands of the 
Yankees ! 


BEvERLEY {incredulously). A prisoner ! Impossible ! 
You mean that she is at the Court — 

Kate. No. She left the Court yesterday and went into 
the Yankee lines — and the wretches have kept her. 

BEVERLEY [amazed). But why on earth did she go into 
their lines ? 

Kate. Because she was looking for you. 

BEVERLEY {more amazed) . Looking for me ! — in the 
Yankee lines ? 

Kate {impatiently). Of course I don't mean that she 
intended to look for you there — or that she meant to go 
there herself. She was trying to find the Confederate 

Beverley. Oh, she was trying to find the Confederate 
camp ! But why — 

Kate. I'll tell you why ! 

{She makes a motion with her hand dismissing Jack and 
FORREST, then turns and sits down on one of the stumps 
at left of stage, where soldiers were seated. These have 
withdrawn at tipper entrances, all except sentry, who 
is pacing across back. Jack and FORREST go up 
stage and silting down on log, or rocks, talk together. 
Ned sits apart. BEVERLEY seats himself on a stump 
beside Kate. He has an air of great perplexity). 

Beverley. I can't imagine why Miss Warrington 
should have been looking for me. 

Kate. Men are stupid — of course I've always known 
that — but still I should think you might imagine. 

BEVERLEY. I suppose I'm particularly stupid, for I 

really can't. 



Kate {regarding him meditatively). Yes, I think you 
must be particularly stupid. I've — well, I've thought so 
for some time. 

BEVERLEY {laughing a little). It's kind of you to tell 
me — even as late as this. If you had told me earlier I 
might — possibly — have improved in intelligence. 

Kate {shaking her head). I'm afraid not. I gave you 
a chance the other day — and what use did you make of it ? 

BEVERLEY. I beg your pardon. What chance did you 
give me? 

Kate. Didn't I take everybody away and leave you 
alone with Marion in the garden at the Court ? 

BEVERLEY {-with the air of one on whom a light has 
dawned). Then that was why you wanted to hear Forrest 

Kate. Yes, that was why I wanted to hear Lieut. For- 
rest sing. You see I thought you might be glad of an op- 
portunity to say a few words to Marion — alone. 

BEVERLEY {stiffly). You were exceedingly kind and — 
er — very thoughtful. Of course it was stupid of me not to 
recognize my obligation to you sooner. And really it was 
a great obligation. You helped me to discover, once and 
for all, what a fool I have been. 

KATE {sarcastically). Well, that was a service for which 
you should thank me. But are you sure you understand 
quite how much of — er — 

Beverley. How much of a fool I am ? There may be 
depths of my folly I haven't sounded yet, but I think I 
know pretty well. For one thing, I've found that Miss 
Warrington doesn't care in the least for me, and that I've 
been an utter fool whenever I've dreamed that she did. 



KATE {addressing vacancy). And yet people talk of the 
superior intelligence of man ! 

Beverley {rising impatiently). But you were going to 
tell me why Miss Warrington went into the Yankee lines. 
My stupidity certainly had nothing to do with that. 

KATE prising also and speaking zvith emphasis). It had 
simply everything to do with it. 

Beverley {staring at her). I — don't understand. 

Kate. No, I don't suppose you do. I'm beginning to 
believe that you don't understand anything. You may be 
a very brave man, Captain Beverley, but you are certainly 
a very dull one ! 

Beverley. We've settled that, haven't we ! Don't let 
us discuss it longer, but tell me about Miss Warrington ! 
What has my dulness — 

Kate {severely). And carelessness ! 

Beverley. And carelessness, if you say so, to do with 
the fact of her being a prisoner? 

Kate. That is what I began to tell you. {Sits down 
again -while Beverley remains standing, looking anxiously 
at her. She looks at him with a judicial expression, as she 
continues). When I left you in the garden with Marion, 
you know what happened. You quarreled with her. 

Beverley. I shouldn't put it exactly that way — but 
{desperately) to get on, I'll agree. Yes, I — that is, we 
quarreled. She told me plainly that she detested me. 

Kate. And I suppose you believed her ! 

Beverley. I hadn't any alternative. She was very 
positive about it. 

Kate. That's the way of a man. He exasperates a wo- 
man into saying — anything. And then he believes her ! 



Beverley. I think the exasperating was on the other 
side, but — never mind ! We'll take it for granted that I 
was a brute, as well as a fool — what then ! 

Kate {with the air of one enumerating facts"). Then 
you went away without one word of regret or apology, or 
giving Marion a chance to tell you that she hadn't meant 
what you provoked her into saying — 

BEVERLEY {reduced to a condition of abject apology). 
I had to go, you know. Our orders were imperative — 

Kate {scornfully). Oh — orders ! Well, you went away, 
and poor Marion nearly broke her heart with grief — think- 
ing that you might be killed before she ever saw you 

Beverley {eagerly). Do you mean that she really — 
cared ? 

Kate. I would not let you know how much she cared, 
except that it is necessary in order to explain what she did. 

BEVERLEY {sitting down again). I can't tell you what 
happiness you give me — 

Kate {interrupting him). My object isn't at all to give 
you happiness — quite the contrary. Please keep quiet and 
listen to me. 

Beverley. I am listening. 

Kate {severely). Except when you are interrupting. 
As I was saying, then, Marion was simply heart-broken. I 
never saw her so overcome with grief, or her pride so com- 
pletely broken down — 

Beverley. Oh ! 

{He rises, as if unable to restrain himself but as Kate 
looks at him reprovingly, sits down again, forcing 



himself by a strong effort to be quiet. When he is still, 
she goes on:) 

Kate. In the middle of the night I was waked by her 
coming to the side of my bed. She was so sad and pale 
that she looked like a spirit in the moonlight ! I told her 
she ought to be asleep, but she said she had not been able 
to sleep for thinking of how she had parted with you. 
{Beverley again half rises, but again s ! 'ts down as she looks 
reprovingly at him). So, to try and divert her thoughts, 
she opened a book which she had been reading in the gar- 
den in the afternoon and there she found — do you know 
what she found, Captain Beverley ? 

Beverley. How should I know ? 

Kate. You must have a very poor memory. She found 
a dispatch written by you, giving Gen. Bering's plans. 

BEVERLEY {springing up) By Jove ! So that is what 
became of that paper ! 

Kate. Then you did miss it ? 

Beverley. Certainly I missed it, and couldn't conceive 
what I had doue with it. But I remember now — of course 
I left it in that book ! {Takes a quick turn across stage). 
And Marion found it ! What did she think ? 

Kate. She thought the consequences might be very 
serious for you That's why she waked me up to tell me 
about it. " It's a very important paper," she said. "He 
will be dreadfully worried when he finds he has lost it, and 
perhaps he'll be blamed, and it was all my fault — " 

Beverley. Her fault ! 

Kate. That's Marion ! She is always ready to take 
the blame of anything on herself. She was sure that it was 



because of your quarrel with her that you had forgotten the 
paper — 

Beverley. I suppose it was. A man is likely to be 
distracted in mind when he is terribly unhappy. But there 
is some excuse for my carelessness in the fact that it 
wasn't — 

Kate. Oh, Marion made excuses enough for you, but 
she was afraid the loss of the dispatch might bang you into 
dreadful trouble. So she determined that she would take 
it to you. " It will be an amends," she said, " and give me 
an opportunity to tell him that I didn't mean all I said — " 

BEVERLEY. Oh, Marion ! — Marion ! [In passionate ag- 
itation he moves away, but almost immediately comes back). 
And then — then? 

Kate {more sympathetically). I tried to dissuade her 
from going to the Confederate camp, for ^ e knew that the 
Yankees were very near — and I thought I had succeeded. 
She went away, and I went to sleep, but when I waked in 
the morning she was gone. She had taken Ned and started 
out early on horseback to find the camp and you. Hours 
passed and Aunt Lucy and I grew very uneasy, although 
we didn't really believe that any harm could happen to her, 
but at last Ned came and told us that they had blundered 
into the Yankee camp and that the Yankees were holding 
Marion a prisoner because they had taken Gen. Bering's 
dispatch from her. 

Beverley {eagerly'). Did they take it ? Are you sure ? 

Kate. Of course the} 7 took it — don't I tell you so? But 
Marion sent me word to lose no time in letting you know 
what had happened, so we slipped away, Ned and I, just as 
the Yankees came to the Court, and — and that's all ! 



Beverley {grimly). No, by Heaven it isn't all ! They 
have fallen into a trap. 

Kate {rising). A trap ! 

Beverley. In which we'll crush them ! ( Turns ab- 
ruptly). Jack ! — Forrest ! 

(Jack and FORREST rising quickly advance toward him. 
Jack tahes his arm with an air of sympathy). 

Jack. I knew it would be a hard blow to you, old fel- 
low, so Kate and I agreed she should tell you alone. Don't 
take it too much to heart ! Such an accident might hap- 
pen to any one. 

Beverley. It's not an accident — or rather, it's an ac- 
cident of rare good luck ! Miss Warrington couldn't pos- 
sibly have seived us better than by taking that dispatch 
into the hands of the enemy. 

Jack. What the deuce do you mean ? 

BEVERLiiY. Just what I say. She wanted to serve us, 
God bless her ! and she has served us far better than she 
knew. Don't you understand? {Jack and Forrest are 
staring at hint blankly). It wasn't a genuine dispatch ! It 
was intended to fall into the hands of the Yankees ! But 
we couldn't find a way — 

Jack. Oh, I see ! Well, Marion has found the way for 

Forrest. Hurrah for Miss Warrington ! 

Beverley. The general must know this at once ! 

[Starts toward tent, but FORREST who is a very boyish 
young fellow, springs forward). 

Forrest. Why not let Miss Conyers tell her own story, 
Beverley ? Let's bring the general out ! He likes ladies. 



I'll tell him that a lady wants to see him. {He goes over 
to tent, raises flap, salutes and says): General, a lady out 
here desires to see you. 

General {within tent). This is no time or place for la- 
dies. Tell her she had better go home. 

Forrest. She'll consider you very ungallant. 

General. Confound gallantry ! I've no use for wo- 
men in the field. Send her away, Forrest. I can't be 
troubled with her. 

Forrest. I think you'll have to see her, general. She 
brings important news. There's a dispatch of yours fallen 
into the hands of the enemy. 

General. What ! {He emerges from te?it). A dis- 
patch of mine in the hands of the enemy ! — what dispatch ? 
Where is this lady ? 

FORREST {indicating Kate). Here she is. 

Gen. {striding forward). Miss Conyers ! Why, my 
dear young lady, {takes her hand), what has brought you 
here ? And what's this about a dispatch ? 

Kate. It was a paper Captain Beverley left at the 
Court, General. 

Beverley. It was the dispatch to Gen. Hill which you 
dictated to me in the garden, General, and which we in- 
tended to fall into the hands of the enemy. The sudden news 
of the Yankee advance made me forget that I had taken it 
out of my note-book. So it was left in a book that lay on 
a table where I wrote it, and Miss Warrington finding it 
after our departure, naturally thought it of great import- 
ance, and set out to return it to me. She has fallen into 
the hands of the Yankees and has sent word that they 
have seized the paper — 



Gen. {eagerly). Is there no doubt of that ? Is it cer- 
tain they have obtained it in such a manner as to make 
them believe it undoubtedly genuine? 

Beverley. I don't see how they could doubt it. Miss 
Warrington ceitainly believed it, and her sincerity would 
make itself felt. 

Jack. Yes, I '11 warrant that Marion's sincerity made it- 
self most unmistakably felt. 

Gen. But how did the Yankees learn that Miss War- 
rington had that paper ? 

Kate. They searched her — the miserable wretches ! 

Gen. But that does not explain why they suspected 
that she had anything of the kind in her possession. 

Kate. They must have learned it from George Stone, t 
who was at the Court the day you were there. 

Gen. That implies that Stone is a traitor. 

Kate. So he is — an absolute traitor. Ned saw him 
with the Yankees, {turns toward Ned~) didn't you, Ned? 

Ned {advancing). Yes'm. I saw him an' heered him 

Gen. What does this boy know about the matter ? 

Kate. Everything. We owe all our knowledge to 
him. He was with Marion when she went into the Yan- 
kee camp. They let him go and he brought us the news 
of her capture, with a message urging me to let you know 
that the paper had been taken. 

Gen. Where was Miss Warrington when he left her? 

Kate. At Miller's farm house, general, and breaking 
her heart with grief because she thinks the Yankees have 
your plan. 

Gen. So they have, but I think that like a hornet it 


will sting thein. If they act on that information, we've 
got them ! They'll move on to Elliott's Run expecting to 
find us there, and meanwhile we'll fall on them in the rear, 
take them by surprise and cut them to pieces. 

Forrest {enthusiastically). It's a glorious chance ! 

Beverley {gravely). Miss Warrington has certainly 
given us a great opportunity, but we don't know how dear- 
ly she may have to pay for it if we prove immediately that 
the despatch taken from her was intended for a trap. We 
must remember that we are dealing with a foe who has no 
chivalry and she should be our first consideration. 

Gen. We will certainly act with discretion and regard 
to her safety. But I want to question this boy a little, if 
„yon are sure he is trustworthy. 

Jack. You can trust him, general. Take my word for 
that. ( Turns to Ned). Ned, tell the general all you know. 

Ned. Yes, sah. {He turns to general). When me an' 
Miss Marion was tuk prisoners, de Yankee ofPser 'lowed as 
dere was no reason for keepin' me an' I could go. But I 
hadn't no notion of leavin' Miss Marion, so when de guard 
tol' me to clar out, I jest dodged aroun' an' got to de back 
o' de house, whar I clum in de window. Den I heered 
Mass George Stone in de next room talkin' to Miss Marion — 

Bevereey. Stone ! 

Jack. Are you sure? 

Ned {very -positively). Yes, sah. I'm jest as sho' as dat 
I'm talkin' to you dis minute ! It was Mass George Stone, 
an' he was threatenin' her owdacious, tellin' her as how 
she'd been put into his hands an' he could do jest what he 
pleased with her, an' ef she wouldn't promise fuh to marry 
him — 



Beverley {violently). The infernal scoundrel ? 

Gen. Be quiet, Beverley ! {To Ned). If she wouldn't 
marry him, then what? 

Ned. Then he were gwine to burn down Wahington 

Jack {violently). The damned traitor! 

KATE {laying her hand on his arm). Wait, wait ! Go 
on Ned ! 

Ned (with evident enjoyment of his story). Miss Marion, 
she stood up to him, an' tol' him to burn away, kase she 
wasn't gwine to marry him, not fuh nuffin. Den he tol' 
her he could send her an' Miss Lucy to de Norff as prison- 
ers fuh givin' information an' Miss Marion tol' him dat was 
a lie, an' he said dat dere'd been a paper tuk from her in 
dat room what proved it. An' den Miss Marion tol' him to 
go an' do what he like, kase she wouldn't marry him fuh 
no consideration. An' he tol' her he was sut'enly gwine to 
do it all, an' dat's de Lawd's truff — sho' ! 

BEVERLEY {furiously). When we catch George Stone, 
I'll hang him, if I'm court-martialed for it next day ! 

General {sternly). You will do nothing of the kind, 
Capt. Beverley. When Stone is caught, he is to be brought 
to me. 

Jack {impetuously). General, I beg leave to take my le- 
gion on a special service. 

Beverley. And I beg leave to accompany them. 

General. Both requests are refused. You are excu- 
sable for making them, but a moment's thought will tell 
you that with the enemy so close at hand this is no time 
for special services. It is a hard saying, but a soldier must 
think of his duty before he thinks of sister or sweetheart. 



Kate {proudly). I can answer for Marion, general, that 
she would not wish to be thought of before dnty. 

General. I am sure of it. But that I will allow no 
special service on the part of these officers does not mean 
that I will make no special effort on her behalf. On the 
contrary, I will direct a very special effort to her rescue, as 
soon as we are quite certain where she is. (He turns to 
Forrest). No scout in yet, Lieutenant? 

Forrest {looking off). One coming now, general, I 

(Scout, booted and spurred, comes hurriedly on stage and 
going up to General, salutes). 

Scout. Come to report, general ! 

General {quickly). Well — what have you learned ? 

Scout. Enemy have moved as far as Warrington Court 
and are there now in force. It is supposed they are about 
to move on, but they haven't moved yet. The officer in 
command is quartered in the Court, and it is reported he 
has declared his intention of burning the house when he 
leaves, and sending the ladies North as prisoners. 

Ned {nodding). Dat's hit — dat's what I done tol' de 
gen'l ! 

Jack (beside himself with rage). General, like Bever- 
ley, I'm ready to be court-martialed rather than leave my 
mother to such — 

General (interrupting). Major Warrington, I'll put 
you tinder arrest if you say another word. (He turns to 
scout). Then Miss Warrington is at the Court with her 
mother ? 

Scout. So I've heard, 



General {turning to Beverley) . There isn't a moment 
to lore. We must move at once, and strike them before 
they leave Warrington Court. It's the only chance to save 
the house and perhaps the ladies. Order the men into the 

Bhverley {saluting). Yes, general. 

{He goes off hastily, and bugles are heard sounding, " Boot 
and saddle." General turns to Jack). 

General. You see, Warrington, there will be no need 
of special service or court-martials either. The whole bri- 
gade will fall on them — like a thunderbolt. But what are 
we going to do with this brave young lady? 

Kate Take me with you, general, of course. 

General. What ! — into action. That won't do ! 

Kate (positively). It must do ! I simply won't be left. 

General. You are a true Southern girl — fearless of 
danger, and born to command. Well, we'll take you along, 
as our Joan of Arc to bring us victory. 

Kate. You need no one to bring you victory. You 
bring that to yourselves. 

General (gravely). Pray that we may ! Well, I must 
leave you to your cousin. I shall not see you again until 
after we have fought and — possibly not then, so let me give 
you a soldier's thanks for all that you have done to serve 
us, (He takes her hand). God ble?s you! 

Kate (holding his hand betzvecn both of hers), God 
bless and keep you, General ! 

(Exit General into tent. Jack turns and calls). 

Jack. Orderly! (Soldier comes forward and salutes) , 



Saddle my chesnut roan for Miss Conyers, and bring a 
pistol-belt and cap. Be quick about it. 

ORDERLY {saluting). Yes, sir. {Goes off). 

Kate {siezing his arm). Oh, Jack, this is a greater 
happiness than I ever dreamed of, to be really going into 
battle with you ! It's better than standing on the house-top 
and watching you. 

Jack. I always knew you were brave enough to be a 
soldier, Kate, but all the same I wish you were at home and 
in the cellar. 

Kate [enthusiastically). I don't, I'm glad to have 
" jined the cavalry." And do you think we'll be in time 
to save the Court and rescue Aunt Iyiicy and Marion ? 

Jack. It won't be our fault if we're not — that's all I can 
tell you ! ( Turning as Orderly re-enters bringing cap 
and belt with -pistol, and takes belt from him). But here's 
something you must put on if you are going with us. It's 
possible you may need it. {Puts belt around her and -while 
she buckles it, places cap on her head). Now, here comes 
your horse — you must spur on with us at a hot pace ! 

Kate. The hotter the better ! 

{As she says these words \ the soldiers, wearing swords re- 
turn to stage and group around her at centre, singing 
with great spirit the last verse of a The Cavaliers Glee:" 

" Spur on, spur on, we love the flashing* 
Of blades that struggle to be free, 
'Tis for our Sunny South they 're clashing,! 
For household gods and liberty. 

♦Swords drawn and brought to carry. fRaised and clashed. Come to carry. 



The path of honor lies before us, 

Our hated foemen gather fast, 

At home bright eyes are sparkling for us, 

We will defend them to the last, j 

At home bright eyes are sparkling for us, 

We will defend them to the last." 

JCome to guard. 




(Scene — Drawing-room of Warrington Court, a large, 
handsome apartment, furnished in the style of the mid- 
dle of the century. It should also contain a few pieces 
of still older furniture. A long, modern couch has a 
prominent -place, but care must be taken not to crozvd 
the scene, since a great deal of action takes place on 
it. A wide door is at centre of flat, and on either side 
of this hang old portraits. There are two windows 
with draperies on right side, and betxveen them stands 
an old-fashioned pier-table, with mirror above it. In 
left comer should be a tall, carved mantel, bearing 
clock, pair of silver candelabra and perhaps one or 
Hvo vases. The hands of the clock point to seven. In 
middle of left side of room is a door with bell-cord 
hanging beside it. Before this door, but well out in 
-floor, stands a round mahogany table of Colonial 
model, with large arm chair near it. On the table, 
books and a number of daguerreotype cases are group- 
ed around a large alabaster vase. A lady^s zvork- 
basket also stands on one side op' table. 

Mrs. Warrington and Marion are discovered. 
Mrs. Warrington seated in large chair, knitting on 
a soldier 's sock. She has an air of composure, in 
striking contrast to Marion, who is walking restlessly 
up and down floor. Both are dressed in simple gowns 
such as ladies would wear at home. 

The light is that of a summer evening). 


Marion (pausing- before her mother). Oh, mamma, 
how can you sit there so quietly, and things so dreadful 
with us? 

Mrs. Warrington (quietly). If I could help them, my 
dear, I would do so. But since I can't, isn't it better to 
finish this sock than to walk up and down the floor, as you 
are doing ? 

Marion. I don't know. It may be better, but how can 
you? (She begins to zvalk to and fro again). Here we 
are, prisoners in our own house — 

Mrs. Warrington. But that is an alleviation of our 
situation ! If we are to be prisoners anywhere, it is cer- 
tainly better that we should be prisoners in our own house 
than elsewhere. 

Marion. It seems to me worse. It is so insulting ! 

Mrs. Warrington (tranquilly). If one despises in- 
sults, one rises above them. 

Marion (despairingly). But I can't despise them, and 
so I can't rise above them. And I can't forget either that 
you wouldn't be treated this way if I hadn't gone into the 
Yankee camp with that paper ! 

Mrs. Warrington. It was certainly unfortunate that 
you went into the Yankee camp, and still more unfortu- 
nate that they got possession of the paper and so learned 
General Dering's plans. But you were quite right to make 
the effort you did. I would rather suffer than that you 
had failed to make it. 

Marion. But it failed. And that is what maddens 
me ! I could endure being a prisoner, but the thought 
that I've given these wretches information of General Der- 
ing's plans, and that they are going to use it against him 



and Jack, and — and Gordon Beverley, makes me wild! 
( Walks nervously to and fro) . 

Mrs. Warrington. I have never understood why the 
Yankees should have suspected that you had the dispatch. 

Marion. George Stone told them— I'm sure of it ! He 
was here the day the General came, he listened and spied 
in the garden, and I found him with the book in his hand, 
searching for the paper he had seen Captain Beverley leave 
in it. Oh ! {she throws up her arms) if only I had a weap- 
on, I would kill George Stone, if they hanged me for it the 
next minute ? 

( With the last words she throws herself despairingly down 
.on couch. Mrs. Warrington rises and going to couch 
bends over her sympathetically). 

Mrs. Warrington. My child, my child, don't grieve 
so ! You've tried to do your best — and Dering will not be 
taken by surprise. He never has been. He's always where 
the Yankees don't look for him. 

Marion (lifting her head). But they know where to 
look for him now, and it's my fault. 

Mrs. Warrington. No — not your fault, only an ac- 
cident. Or if there is fault in the matter it was Captain 
Beverley's. There's no excuse for his leaving that paper. 

Marion (rising to her feet). It wasn't his fault. I 
won't have him blamed. I had been tormenting him. 
Mamma, {laying head on Mrs. Warrington 's shoulder) I'm 
a wretch — simply a wretch ! 

Mrs. Warrington (soothing her). I wish there was 
more wretches like you in the world. Well, I won't blame 
Captain Beverley, then, if you will stop blaming yourself. 



Trust him to repair his care — well, his forgetfulness. And 
then, you know — there's Jack ! 

Marion. Oh, yes, there's Jack, and we don't think 
Jack's Light Horse could be defeated. But what if they are 
to learn the lesson of defeat for the first time — through me ? 

Mrs. Warrington. We won't think of it. We won't 
believe it possible. Keep up your heart, my child, keep 
up your heart. 

Marion. It's hard to do — when they are going to burn 
our dear old home and send us North as prisoners. 

Mrs. Warrington. The house is not burned yet and 
we are still here — and Kate may bring our men. 

Marion (turning' away and nervously beginning to walk 
again). But it was such a desperate venture for Kate to 
try to reach the Confederate lines across the country, on 
foot — with only Ned to accompany her. 

Mrs. Warrington (resuming her seat). She is very 
brave and Ned is very faithful. I think she will succeed, 
and it was so fortunate that she got away when she did — 
just before the Yankees come in force — with you. And 
remember that although we are prisoners they might treat 
us worse. At least they spare us their society. 

(All through this speech sounds of loud talk and laughter 
and clinking glasses should he heard from off stage). 

Marion (pausing at door in centre and listening). But 
*I hear them now — carousing in the dining-room and drink- 
ing our wine ! 

Mrs. Warrington (earnestly). I hope they will drink 

it ail. 

Marion (astonished). Mamma ! 



•Mrs, Warrington. It may keep them here until our 
soldiers come ! I told Mom Elsie to give them your fath- 
er's finest wine, and the French brandy which is a hundred 
years old. I hope she did as I told her. Here she is now ! 
{Enter Mom Elsie from door on left, looking very angry). 

Mom Elsie. I done what you said, Miss Lucy. I gib 
dem debils Mass Tom's fine ol' Sherry an' Madeira an' his 
ol'est brandy ; an' Jasper say dey's drinkin' like fishes — 

Mrs. Warrington. So much the better, Mom Elsie. 

Mom Elsie. I ain't so sure o' dat, Miss Lucy. Mass 
Tom's gwine to be powe'f ul mad 'bout dat wine an' brandy 
when he comes home. 

Mrs. Warrington. If he finds nothing gone of more 
importance than his wine and brandy, Mom Elsie, I think 
he'll be very glad. 

Mom Elsie. I'd like to put pizen in it fuh 'em — dat's 
what I'd like to do ! Mis'eble, owdacious trash — ain't ^ot 
no manners — jist as impident as if de house belonged to 
'em ! 

Mrs. Warrington. Never mind about that. See that 
they have everything they want to eat and to drink — espe- 
cially to drink. Don't you understand ? We want to keep 
them here until — 

Marion [seizing Mom Elsie and speaking eagerly). 
Until Miss Kate and Ned can bring our men ! That's what 
mamma wants, Mom Elsie ! And you must help — help to 
save us and Warrington Court. For they say that when 
they leave they are going to burn the house — 

Mom Elsie (starting). Fo' de Eawd — burn de house ! 

Marion. And take mamma and me away, to send us 
North as prisoners. 



Mom Eusie (flinging up her hands). Ain't dey debils ! 
Ain't I right to call 'em debils ? Fo' de Lawd — take you 
an' Miss Lucy 'way ! 

Marion. Unless Kate can bring our men in time — 
Listen ! They are calling now ! 

(Voices are heard of sh&uting : " Here you nigger ! 
Where's that damned old nigger f ") 

Mom Eusie {nodding her head). Dat's dem — dat's de 
gen'elmunly way dey talks ! Dey's callin' Jasper, and I 
reckon what dey wants is more liquor. I'll give 'em all dey 
wants. Bress de Lawd, Mass Tom's got a cellar full ! 

(Goes out by left with air of great determination). 

Mrs. Warrington. If the cellar saves us it will in- 
deed be something to be thankful for, that your father laid 
it in. And if I know anything of men they will find it 
rather difficult to leave that wine. 

Marion. The question is can it keep them until our 
men come ? 

(/She resumes her walk and for a minute there is silence. 
Then enter George Stone from centre. Marion 
turns her back on him and walks over to window on 
right, where she stands gazing out. Mrs. Warring- 
ton puts down her knitting and looks at him calmly). 

Mrs. Warrington. Only a moment ago, Mr. Stone, 
I remarked that it is an alleviation of our situation that we 
are at least spared the society of our jailors. Are we to be 
denied even that alleviation ? 

Stone (pausing before her). I am sorry that you regard 
me as one of your jailors, Mrs. Warrington. 


Mrs. Warrington. I regard you as not only chief 
among them, but also as something far worse — a traitor to 
your country and her cause. Therefore, I hope you will 
be good enough to spare us your society. 

Stone. It strikes me that you are not exactly in a sit- 
uation to dictate as to your society. 

Mrs. Warrington. To dictate, no. But even a pris- 
oner may be allowed to protest against unnecessary indig- 
nity. It is quite true that I am unable to enforce my re- 
quest that you will leave this room, but if you were a gen- 
tleman the fact that I cannot enforce it would be enough 
to make you regard it. 

Stone (walking to chair on oilier side of table and sit- 
ting down). If you like, you may consider me not a gen- 

Mrs. Warrington (resuming her knitting). The con- 
clusion is evident. 

Stone (angrily). It is very bad policy on your part 
to insult me in this manner, for I have it in my power to 
do a great deal for you. 

Mrs. Warrington (without lifting her eyes). Our ob- 
ligations to you are already so great that we do not desire 
their increase. 

Stone (fiercely). Damn your sarcasm, madam ! You 
wouldn't object to being under obligations to me to save 
your home, I suppose ? 

Mrs. Warrington. Since I owe it to you that my 
home is in danger, I certainly do not care to countenance 
any pretended attempt on your part to save it. 

Stone. Whether you owe its danger to me or not, I 
can save it. I can see that the house is spared and that 



you aud your daughter are left undisturbed. And I will do 
so in — in consideration of our old friendship — 

Mrs. Warrington {looking at htm). So the memory 
of our old friendship has revived with you ! 

Stone {ignoring her speech). If you will pledge your- 
selves in case of the return of the Confederates, to give no 
information of what has occurred, but to protect my inter- 
ests by testifying- that I have protected yours. 

Mrs. Warrington {glancing at Marion, who has turned 
around). I think the Confederate forces must be near at 

Marion. I am sure of it. 

Stone {rising in violent anger). I understand what both 
of you imply. You believe that I am impelled to this of- 
fer by fear and interest. 

Mrs. Warrington. It is possible that such an idea 
may have occurred to us. 

Stone (walking across stage). Well, you are mistaken ! 
There are no Confederate troops near here, and there's not 
the least possibility of there being any at present. They 
are in full retreat in every direction and the Federals are 
about to move on in pursuit of them. Thanks to the paper 
taken from Miss Warrington {turns toward Marion\ we 
know where Dering is and are about to strike and demolish 
him. Therefore it is not interest, in any immediate sense, 
which has induced me to make this offer to you — 

Mrs. Warrington {sarcastically). Only interest in* a 
remote sense — we understand. 

Stone. You understand very little, madam, or you 
would consider your own interest, and take a different tone 
towards me. 



Mrs. Warrington {rising'). You are mistaken, Mr. 
Stone. I understand perfectly that it has occurred to you 
that when the Confederate forces come — 

Stone {interrupting fiercely). I've told you that's not 
likely to be soon — if ever. 

Mrs. Warrington. Soon or late, you know that when 
they come, it will be difficult for you to save your own 
home if the blackened walls of Warrington Court testify 
against you, and you are prudent enough to believe that it 
is better to preserve your property than even to revenge 
yourself on a woman for despising you. 

STONE {restraining himself with an effort). Are you 
trying how you can exasperate me ? You forget what is 
in my power. 

Mrs. Warrington {with dignity). I forget nothing. 
But my daughter and myself cannot enter into the bargain 
you propose. We will not bind ourselves to hide your 
treachery or to protect your interests. If we did so, we 
should, like yourself, betray our country by aiding you to 
continue your work as a spy. 

Marion {advancing). It is as I told you yesterday. W 7 e 
set our honor above our interest — which is a sentiment hard 
for you to comprehend, I know. 

Stone {regarding her zvith exasperation) . You'll re- 
gret this. 

Marion. Not half so much as you, believe me ! 
* Stone {turning to Mrs. Warrington). I came into this 
room with the determination to save you from all that 
threatens you, but you make it impossible for me to do so. 
If you refuse to pledge yourselves to what I ask, why then — 



Mrs. Warrington. Then what? 

Stone. You may prepare to leave your home immedi- 
ately, and forever. 

Mrs. Warrington (calmly). That is as God may or- 
der, not as you do. 

Stone. You'll see. I am ordering here. 

(He goes out violently. Mrs. Warrington and Marion 
look at each other). 

Mrs. Warrington. This settles it, my child. Unless 
our men get here very quickly — more quickly than perhaps 
we can hope for — our fate and that of our home is sealed. 
Look around. (She glances around). We shall never see 
these dear old walls again, if we go out from them now. 

Marion (quietly and proudly). We cannot purchase 
their safety by dishonor. 

Mrs. Warrington. No. 

(Enter Yankee soldier. Speak as to prisoners). 

Soldier. The general orders your removal. You will 
prepare to leave immediately. 

Mrs. Warrington. Can we go to our rooms to make 
some preparations? 

Soldier. My orders are that you will get ready here. 
You can send for your bonnets. 

Marion. For nothing else ? 

Soldier. Nothing that you cannot take with you on 
horse back. 

Marion (to her mother). I will ring for a servant. 
(She rings and enter from left Mom Elise). Mom Elsie, 
go to our rooms — mamma's and mine — and bring us hats 
and veils and a wrap apiece, and put up in two traveling- 



bags all that we will need for a journey. Try not to for- 
get anything, aud {leading her aside and speaking- with 
emphasis) take as long a time about it as possible ! 

MON ELSIE (who looks startled and subdued). Yes, 

missy, I will ! 

[She goes out by left. Soldier stands at door in centre. 
Mrs. Warrington and Marten come down to front of 

Marion [despairingly). There's no hope. Our men 
can never get here in time to save us ! 

Mrs. Warrington. I have given up hope of their 
coming. All we can do now is to bear ourselves with 
dignity and courage. These Yankees shall not see us 
quail. We must remember that we, too have our share in 
supporting the honor of the South. 

Marion (drawing herself up). Yes, yes. We will 
support it. They shall never see us quail. 

(Enter Mom Elsie carrying bonnets, zvraps and bags. 
Marion goes hurriedly toward her, and while taking 
things speaks aside reproachfully). 

Marion. Why did you come back so soon ? 

Mom Elsie (whispering excitedly). Oh honey, de Con- 
fed 'rates is comin' ! 

Marion (seizing- her arm). Are you sure? How do 
you know ? 

Mom Elsie. Scip done tol' me — jest dis minute. 

Marion. How does Scip know ? 

Mom Elsie. He's been a-lookin' out. He clum' a tree 
an' seen de gray coats comin' de oder side o' de woods. He 
say dey ain't mor'n a mile off — 



Marion (anxiously). Did he tell the Yankees? 
Mom Elsie. La, missy, Scip ain't as big a fool as dat. 
He jest come to me an' whispered de news. 
Marion. I must tell Mamma. 

(She goes over to Mrs. Warrington, pztts bonnet on her 
head, and while tying strings speaks low but distinc- 

Marion. Our men are coming. Scipio says he has 
seen them — about a mile off. 

Mrs. Warrington (clasping her hands). If it is true 
they should be here soon ! 

Marion. We must try to delay as much as possible. 

(She goes to mirror between windows, puts on hat, takes it 
off again, pretends to arrange hair. Mrs. Warring- 
ton at table meanzvhile takes things out of bag and 
consumes time rearranging them and talking to Mom 
Elsie. Soldier watches proceedings indifferently until 
enter Captain Porter and Stone. 

Porter (to soldier). Why don't you bring the prison- 
ers out ? Their horses are ready. 

Soldier. They are not ready, sir. 

PORTER. They must get ready. We can't be delayed. 
( To Stone). Orders have been issued to fire the place as 
soon as we leave it. 

Stone (looking significantly at Mrs. Warrington). I 
heard them issued. 

(Mrs. Warrington does not seem to hear, but calmly con- 
tinues her work of delay). 

Porter (addressing her). You must come, madam. 



Mrs. Warrington. Not without the few things we 
are allowed, I suppose? 

Porter. Yes, without them, if necessary. {Turns to 
Marion). Do you hear, Miss Warrington ? You must 
come at once ! 

Marion [turning with hat in hand). You can't expect 
me to go bareheaded. 

Porter. You can put on your hat, or go without it, as 
you like. 

Marion. What charming consideration ! 

Porter [rudely). We have something else to do be- 
sides feeding your vanity on what you call consideration. 

Marion. No doubt. I suppose you have to capture 
some more women and burn some more houses. It's no 
wonder you don't care to be delayed in such brave work ! 

Porter [angrily). Enough of this insolence ! You are 
prisoners — 

Marion. Are you afraid that your courtesy might pos- 
sibly lead us to forget the fact? 

Porter. And if you don't come, you will be taken by 

Marion [scornfully). What is implied in that threat 
has more effect than you can imagine ! [She turns hack to 
mirror, puts on hat and ties veil very slowly, glancing out 
of window the while) . 

Stone [tapping officer on shoulder). She has some ob- 
ject in this delay. 

Porter. We'll end it. [To soldier). Bring that wo- 
man out ! 

[As soldier advancing seizes Marion, Porter himself 
takes hold of Mrs. Warrington's arm, saying rough- 



ly, "Come, madam!' 1 ' 1 Stone, stepping forward, 
takes her other arm). 

Stone (in a tone of triumph). You perceive now who 
is ordering ! 

(Mom Elsie, seeing her mistress about to he led out, rushes 
forward and stands in front of door, facing group 
with outstretched arms. She addresses Porter). 

Mom Elsie. Oh, Mistah Capt'n, fun de blessed Eawd's 
sake ! You ain't gwine to carry off my mistis' ? She ain't 
done nuffin' ! Dere neber was a better lady ! 

Porter (violently). Get away, you fool ! 

Mom Elsie. Oh, Mistah Capt'n, don't take Miss Lucy 
an' little missy away — what's dey done ? (Throws herself 
on her knees). Oh, Mistah Capt'n, fuh de Lawd's sake ! — 

PORTER (to soldier). Take her away ! 

(Soldier releasing Marion, -who immediately darts bach to 
•window and looks out, seizes Mom Elsie, who screams 
and resists. At this moment the Southern yell is heard 
at distance. There are shots and cries, a crash of 
glass, as of table overturned in next room, and a 
sound of feet rushing out. Then more shots and the 
yell drawing nearer). 

Marion (at window). Our men! — our men. Here they 
are ! 

Porter. The rebels ! 

(He draws his sword and rushes to door in centre where he 
■pauses for an instant as if listening. Yells and shots 
draw nearer, and followed by soldier, he rushes out. 
Stone starts as if to follow them, but at door hearing 



shots very near, turns hurriedly back and moves across 
room toward door at left. Mrs. Warrington quickly 
intercepts him and stands before the door). 

Mrs. Warrington. No, Mr. Stone. You will wait 
and see who is ordering ! 

( While Stone hesitates, looking at her furiously , Mom Elsie 
still on her knees by couch, where soldier dragged her, 
is rocking to and fro, crying cxcitely " Lawd hab 
mussy on us/ v Shots and cries diminish as if in 
■pursuit of flying enemy, and Marion turns from win- 
dow as Beverley rushes in by centre door, sword in 

BEVERLEY. Marion ! Thank God we're in time ! 

Marion (running to him). There wasn't a moment to 
spare, Gordon — not a moment ! They were just taking us 
out, just about to burn our house, and it was to him (she 
points to Stone) we owed it all ! 

BEVERLEY (turning to Stone). Ah, he's here — the cow- 
ardly traitor ! 

(He advances tozuard Stone, who retreats a few steps, put- 
ting table between them). 

Stone. You can't touch me ! I've tried to protect these 
ladies and their property — 

BEVERLEY. Lying can't save you, miserable cur that 
you are ! 

(He advances around table. Stone draws a pistol and 
and covers him threateningly). 

Stone. I'll not be taken ! I'll kill you if you touch 
me ! 



Beverley. You're in haste to be hanged ! 

{He rushes forward. STONE fires and misses. BEVER- 
LEY seizes him, STONE fires again and BEVERLEY 
staggers back and falls. Marion with a scream 
rushes forward and falls on her knees beside him). 

Marion. Oh, Gordon ! Gordon ! 

(Stone turns to dash from room, by centre door but Mrs. 
Warrington seizes him. 

Mrs. Warrington. No — no ! You shan't go ! 
Stone {hoarsely). Get out of my way ! 

{He struggles to throzv her oj^, but Mom EeSIE comes for- 
zvard to help her. Between them they hold him and 
■prevent his using the -pistol, zvhich, in the struggle, 
Mom Elsie takes from him. He is, hozvever, drag- 
ging them toward door, when KaTE suddenly appears 
in it. She is flushed and excited and zvears her sol- 
diers cap. 

Kate {pausing). Aunt Lucy ! 

Mrs. Warrington {panting). Help me, Kate ! Help 
me to hold him ! He has killed Gordon Beverly ! 

KATE. Oh ! {She drazvs pistol from her belt and cov- 
ers Stone with it). Thank Heaven, Jack gave me this ! 
Now George Stone, stand still, or I'll shoot — and you know 
that I can shoot ! Aunt Lucy, get away, for if he moves 
I'll fire ! 

(Stone looks around for his pistol, but Mom Elsie holds 
it behind her). 

Mom Elsie {shaking her head indignantly). No sah, 



you ain't gwine to git dis no more — killin' Mass Gordon 
and tryin' to kill Miss Lucy ! You owdacious — 

Stone {imploringly) TO Kate. Let me go ! I've done 
nothing. You've no right to hold me — 

Kate. Open the window, Aunt Lucy ! Call the sol- 
diers ! 

(As Mrs. Warrington opens window, Stone again ad- 
dresses Kate) : 

Stone. I tell you I've done nothing ! I only shot him 
(he indicates Beverley) in self-defence. 

Kate. If you take another step toward this door, I'll 
shoot you in self-defence. 

Mrs. Warrington. Yonder are soldiers! (Calls), 
Here ! Come here ! 

Stone (to Kate). Oh, for God's sake, let me go ! Let 
me escape ! 

KATE (stamping her foot as he makes an attempt to ad- 
vance). Stay where you are or I'll fire ! 

STONE (in tone of desperation). They'll hang me — 
they'll certainly hang me ! 

Mom Elsie. An' sarve you right ef dey does ! 

(Enter FORREST and soldiers. KATE turns to them). 

Kate. Take this man. He's a traitor and a spy, and 
has just shot Capt. Beverley. 

Soldier. The damned scoundrel ! 

(Tzvo of them seize STONE, while FORREST goes over to 
BEVERLEY, whom Marion has meanwhile half-raised 
to her lap, zvhile with a handkerchief she staunches 

his wound). 



FORREST {kneeling beside him). Is he badly hurt ? 

Marion {despairingly). I think he's dying. 

Beverley {lifting himself '). No — no — not dying! I'm 
not very — badly hurt — {Falls back). 

Marion {to Forrest). Oh go — go for a surgeon ! 

FORREST {rising and turning to soldiers). Keep the 
prisoner here. I'm going for a doctor. 

{As he goes out at centre, Ned enters). 

Ned. Mass Jack an' de gen'l's comin', Miss Lucy. 
'{Starts back). Good Lawd ! Is Mass Gordon kilt ? 

Mrs. Warrington. No, no. But he's wounded. 
Quick, Ned, draw out this couch, and lift him to it. 

(Ned and Mom Elsie hastily draw couch to centre of stage, 
while Mrs. Warrington arranges cushions at head 
of it. Stone has meanwhile been led to right upper 
corner of room, where soldiers stand guard over him. 
Kate goes and kneels on floor by Marion, as*if con- 
soling her. When Ned has drawn out couch he comes 
forward to lift BEVERLEY, but the latter, rejecting as- 
sistance, rises to his knees and then to his feet. As he 
turns after rising, he catches sight o/"STONE and stag- 
gers a step or two towards him). 

Beverley. You've scored this point, you traitor ! But 
— but if you've killed me, the cause you've betrayed can 
never die. My comrades will take up my sword and — and 
{he suddenly perceives Marion, who has come to his side). 
Marion ! {He falls on couch). 

Marion {wildly, dropping on her knees beside him). 
Oh, he's dead ! Gordon, Gordon, can't you hear me! say 



how sorry I arn I ever hurt you, and how much I love 
you ! 

(Mrs. Warrington going to her shows sympathy and, 
busies herself -with Beverley, while enter General 
and Jack at centre). 

General {advancing). What's this I hear? — Beverly 

Mrs Warrington. I am grieved to say he is, general. 

Jack. And by that infernal traitor, Stone ! {Looks 
around and sees Stone). General, with your permission, 
we'll take this scoundrel out and hang him at once ! 

General. Certainly not, Major Warrington. It's 
enough that we hold him a prisoner, I'll attend to him 
presently. First we must learn how seriously Beverley is 
wounded. Who has gone for the surgeon ? 

Soldier. Lieutenant Forrest, sir — and here he comes ! 

{Enter FORREST with surgeon, who goes to couch and 
kneels down to examine BEVERLEY. All look at hi?n 
anxiously. Mrs. Warrington, KaTE and Mom El- 
SIE are grouped at head oj couch. The general and 
Jack are at the foot. Marion kneels at side, toward 
audience. Surgeon and Forrest are on farther side. 
Ned stands beside them with expression of anxiety). 

General. Is he fatally wounded, doctor? 

Surgeon. I think not. He has fainted from loss of 
blood, but the wound is not severe. 

Marion. Oh, thank God ! 

Surgeon {bending over -patient). See ! — he is reviving. 

Beverley {rousing and seeing Jack starts up). Jack ! 
What are you doing here ? The Yankees — 



Jack. Are in full retreat. We never thrashed them 
more thoroughly. That's enough for you to know at 

Beverley. Not quite enough. Marion ! 

Marion {bending forward). Here I am, Gordon. Oh, 
forgive me for having been so — abominable. 

Beverley. You never were abominable. You were al- 
ways — adorable. But, was I dreaming, or did I really hear 
you say that you love me ? 

Marion. Oh, Gordon, don't you know it ? 

Beverley. It's worth being shot to know it. But that 
scoundrel Stone — did he get away ? 

Marion. No. Kate came in and held him with a pis- 
tol till our men could take him. 

Jack {turning toward her). Kate ! 

Kate {holding tip -pistol). You see I found good use for 
your pistol, Jack. 

Jack. You could not possibly have found better. Gen- 
eral, do you know that we owe the capture of Stone to Miss 
Conyers ? 

General. It doesn't surprise me. Nothing you could 
tell me of the courage and daring of Miss Conyers would 
surprise me. And as for Miss Warrington — we ow r e it to 
her that we took these rascals so completely by surprise. 

Marion {turning toward him eagerly). Oh, general ! — 
do you mean it? 

General. Haven't you heard it ? Then I'm glad to 
have the pleasure of telling you that when you carried that 
dispatch of mine into the Yankee camp you did us the 
greatest service imaginable. It was intended to lead the 
enemy into a trap, and accomplished its purpose admirably. 



Marion (clasping her hands). Oh, now I don't mind 
anything I suffered since the results are so glorious — that 
is (she looks at Beverley) all but this. And this wouldn't 
have been but for that traitor. (She points to Stone). 

General. I'll settle with him now. (He turns). Men, 
bring forward the prisoner. 

(Soldiers bring forward STONE, who tries to wear an air 
of bravado). 

Stone. I wish to state, General Dering, that I shot 
Captain Beverley purely in self-defence. He attacked me 
grossly, unprovokedly — 

General (inter r lifting). The enemy might say the 
same, Mr. Stone. 

Stone. But I am not one of the enemy. 

General. Why were you found with them, then ? 

Stone. I came to obtain protection for my property. 

General (curtly). On what ground ? 

Stone. On the ground that I have not borne arms_ior 
the South. 

General (sarcastically). I don't think that we've lost 
much, or the Yankees gained much, by that. And I be- 
lieve they would be of the same opinion. You must have 
had a better reason to offer for the protection of your prop- 

STONE. My mother is a Northern woman. General 
Taylor, of the Federal Army, is her cousin. 

General. General Taylor is not to be congratulated on 
his cousin. But I doubt if even that claim would suffice. 
I'll see for myself what grounds are specified in the paper 
you obtained. Give it to me ! (Holds out his hand). 



Stone. I didn't obtain any paper. I had a — verbal as- 
surance of protection. 

General. You are not a very successful liar, Mr. 
Stone. ( To soldiers). Search him. 

{Soldiers search him, take a paper from his -pocket and 
hand it to general}. 

General {opening it). Here is the paper you have so 
singularly forgotten. Yet it is very explicit. {Reads). 
" In consideration of valuable services rendered to the Un- 
ion cause, Mr. George Stone is entitled to the protection of 
the United States' forces whenever necessary, for himself, 
his family and property, and is exempt from all demands of 
every kind. Signed by the general commanding Thir- 
teenth Brigade, U. S. A." That's rather a damning docu- 
ment for a Southern man to have in his pocket, Mr. Stone ! 
{Stone stands silent). What are the "valuable services" 
mentioned here? {Stone is still silent). Probably you are 
wise in not attempting to explain them. Well, your fam- 
ily must do without this return for them. And without 
your society also. We'll see that you don't render any 
more such services at present. 

Stone {apprehensively). What are you going to do with 

General. I am going to send you to Richmond, to be 
dealt with as one convicted of furnishing information to the 
enemy. And also of causing the arrest of these ladies, the 
shameful treatment to which they have been subjected and 
the threat to burn their house, the execution of which only 
our timely arrival prevented. If I gave you what you de- 
serve for all this, but especially for your treachery, it would 



be a short shrift and a long rope, but since the treachery 
has failed I will let the authorities at Richmond deal with 

Stone (imploringly). Mrs. Warrington, won't you say 
a word for me ? 

Mrs. Warrington {who has come to side of general). 
What word, George Stone, have you left me to say ! Your 
treatment of my daughter and myself I could forgive, but 
your treason to the cause for which your people are in 
aims, your life-long friends and associates shedding their 
blood like water, is a different matter. There are offences 
which it is a crime to condone, and no Southern woman 
will ever forgive the man who forgets that his first duty, 
in success or in defeat, is to this noble, bleeding land — our 

General. Well said, madam! {To soldiers). Re- 
move the prisoner. 

{Soldiers lead off Stone. As they go out the general turns 
to Mrs. Warrington). 

General. Now I have a pleasauter duty to perform. I 
should like to promote these young ladies for gallant and 
meritorious service, but since the War Department would 
have, I fear, a prejudice against issuing commissions to 
them, I see only one way of accomplishing the promotion, 
if you will permit me to mention that way. 

Mrs. Warrington. I shall be happy to hear anything 
you have to suggest, general. 

General. Then I venture to suggest for Miss Conyers 
promotion to the command of the Commander of Warring- 
ton's Light Horse and Miss Warrington to that of ranking 



officer of my Chief of Staff. Seriously, one must see how 
things are with these young people and in war delays are 
not wise. It is evident, that, owing to his wound, Captain 
Beverley will be quartered with you for some time, and 
Major Warrington can have a day or two's furlough when- 
ever we are not too busy chasing the enemy — 

Jack {gratefully). Thanks, general. I fully agree with 
you that delays are dangerous, so whenever Kate is ready — 

Kate {-putting her hand in his). I'm ready now, Jack, 
and remember I expect to go into battle with you ! 

BEVERLEY {anxiously). There's no need to wait till I've 
recovered. Marion — 

Marion. Not the least, Gordon. 

General. Very good. Why not have the wedding at 
once ? Otherwise, some of us may possibly never have the 
pleasure of witnessing it. 

Mrs. Warrington. I am quite willing, general. A 
wedding to the sound of drum-beat and cannon is no strange 
thing in days of war. 

Mom Elsie {throwing up her hands). Good Lawd ! 
Gwine to marry boff de young mistresses right away ! I 
mus' see 'bout de weddin' supper, an' git out de champagne. 
Dem Yankees neber got dat ! 

{As she speaks, soldiers bearing battle-flag, enter and form 
group hehind couch. BEVERLEY raises himself). 

Beverley. Comrades, you are in time to welcome two 
new commanding officers. {He indicates Marion and Kate, 
whom soldiers laughingly salute). And let us never forget 
that whatever else we may lose, we have to thank God for 
the faith and devotion of our women. 



Marion (springing to her feet and taking the flag). 
And let tcs never forget that we have now and always to 
thank God for the heritage of imperishable honor and glory 
left by the men who have fought and died under the South- 
ern Cross ! 

( The soldiers cheer, and to the swelling strains of " Dixie ")